A New Day
by PrettyPoppy
Summary: Complete! As the final battle with The First rages, tragedy strikes, and it's up to an unlikely champion to set things right. And of course, that's just the beginning. Sequel to "The Final Night." Spike/Buffy
1. Ashes to Ashes

Title: A New Day

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: Sequel to "The Final Night." As the ultimate battle with The First rages, tragedy strikes, and it's up to an unlikely champion to set things right. And of course, that's just the beginning. S/B

Notes: If you haven't read "The Final Night," all you really need to know is that Angel and the LA gang are in Sunnydale - fighting the fight -, Spike and Buffy are together, and Angel and Cordy are together. That's it really. You know the rest. 

I really believe that "The Final Night" stands on its own as a solid story. However, there was some clamoring for a sequel, so here's my attempt. If you hate it, just totally disregard it and enjoy the first story on its own. And oh yeah, no matter how grim the first chapter seems, remember, this is a Spuffy fic. Just have a little faith. Spoilers through Season 7.

Feedback: Yes, please. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net

Distribution: If you want it, just let me know

Disclaimer: Joss is a god. The rest of us are just his lowly minions. I own nothing. Joss owns everything.

***

Chapter One: Ashes to Ashes

The battle was raging. 

The school basement was a war-zone, a wonderland of chaos, brought on by evil forces. The earth had opened up around them, devouring everything in its path. With amazing swiftness, the battle had been pushed to the farthest parameters of the underground arena, and the troops had been scattered.

Spike could hear the sounds of screaming around him, but whether they were the screams of demons or of human beings, he couldn't tell. In the heat of the moment, there was very little difference between a battle cry and a cry for help. 

The Hellmouth had erupted with a veritable cornucopia of demon spawn. Buffy and the gang were trying their best to hold them back, but it was like trying to damn a raging river with mud and twigs. They were losing quickly - that much was obvious - but still, they fought the good fight.

Suddenly a scream pierced the din. A deafening scream. A familiar scream. It was Dawn.

Spike gripped the stake he was carrying more firmly in his hand and swiftly drove it through the heart of the vamp he was fighting. A second later, he turned toward the sound. 

Even in all the chaos, he would recognize Dawn's scream anywhere. She was battling a huge, hulking demon whose species Spike didn't recognize. It had somehow managed to knock Dawn to the ground and was now hovering over her, getting ready to crush her skull with its fist.

Spike let out a feral scream and made for the demon. Pouncing through the air, he landed on the monster's back and began wrestling it to the ground. They struggled for what seemed liked an eternity - but what must have only been seconds - before Spike got a firm grasp on its head and snapped its neck.

Jumping off the beast, Spike quickly got Dawn out of the way before it came crashing to the ground beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, yelling over the chaos. 

"I'm fine," she hollered back.

But she wasn't fine. Somewhere along the way, she had been seriously injured. There was a long gash down the side of her right arm, and she was bleeding. Losing a lot of blood in fact. Spike dragged her out of the battle, and set her down in a dark corner, just barely out of harm's way.

"I have to go," she tried to get up, to rejoin the fight.

He pushed her down to sit on a pile of debris. "No." He pulled off his duster and then his T-shirt. Ignoring her protests, he wrapped the shirt tightly around her bleeding arm, then he swung his duster around her shoulders.

"I don't want it," she said, trying to shrug out of it.

"You're going to put this on," he said harshly, as he forced her arms into it. She was starting to go into shock and she didn't even know it. Her body was trembling and her skin was pale. "And then," he said, as he fastened it closed, "you're going to sit here and wait for this to end."

"No!" she yelled.

"Yes," he said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "You're going to get yourself killed if you don't stay put." He looked her directly in the eyes, examining her face for what might be the last time. Gently, he squeezed her arms. "It's all right 'lil bit. You don't have to save the world. Be safe," he said, before placing a firm kiss on her forehead and turning to go back into battle. 

"Spike!" she screamed.

But he wouldn't look back. There was a battle to be lost or won before him, and he had to fight.

The horror continued on. 

Spike didn't know where Buffy was, or anyone else for that matter. The atmosphere was so thick with blood and stench and demon carcasses that it was difficult to see anything. He could very well be the last warrior standing and not even know it.

He hadn't even seen The First. At least, he didn't think he had. He just assumed it was off screwing with someone else.

The night before had been the greatest night of Spike's life. Buffy had declared her undying love for him, and somehow, even in the heat of this losing battle, he felt invincible. Whatever happened - whether they won or lost, lived or died - he knew everything would be okay, because Buffy loved him. Buffy believed in him. And that was all that mattered. 

Despite the overwhelming odds, determined to see this thing through, Spike continued to fight. 

Before long, he found himself battling a huge, beast-like demon. Again, of an unfamiliar species. The creature was slow, but strong; built like a boulder and about as indestructible as one. After abandoning a slew of different strategies, Spike finally fell back on the old standby, beating the thing senseless. In spite of its massive density, it finally went down, crashing to the ground behind it. Spike turned and tried to push the dead carcass into the ever-widening mouth of hell, but the body was too heavy. 

Shrugging absently, he turned around to face the next wave of evil that was coming his way. He picked off the two vamps easily. Then he heard a voice shouting off in the distance.

"Spike! Behind you!" 

It was Buffy, screaming over the overwhelming din of the battle.

She had been fighting for what seemed like hours, her limbs tired and aching. She knew her friends had fallen, but at this point, she didn't know exactly who. She could just sense that they were losing, the battle drowning them in a sea of blood. 

Spike whipped around to look at her, his crystal blue eyes locking with hers for the briefest moment. 

But it was too late. In that very instant the beast-like demon rose up and swung around, stabbing a broken sliver of wood right into Spike's heart. 

Buffy's eyes flashed in horror as she saw him explode in a burst of thick, gray dust. 

"Spike!" The scream tore from her throat. 

Suddenly she couldn't sense anything. Not the aches and pains she had sustained in fighting. Not the blood-curdling battle cries of the army of approaching demons. Not even her friends spread out around her, defending their own lives. She was numb. There was only one thing she could see. The dust. A big, sickening, stomach-turning pile of dust, lying on the floor in front of her.

Without thinking, she slowly walked to the spot and knelt down on the ground. Her eyes hazy with tears, she sifted her fingers through all that was left of the love of her life. She watched listlessly, as the little grains slid past her fingers and fell back to earth. She slowly lifted another handful and prepared to repeat the process again when a strong hand grabbed her by the arm and jerked her up so that she was standing.

"Buffy!" Angel's voice was somehow hard and gentle at the same time. "Buffy, look at me!"

He swung her around so she was standing in front of him, but she didn't look up to meet his gaze. Instead, she let her eyes drift back down to the floor, to the ever-lessening pile of dust that was slowly being swept up into the atmosphere by the whirl of the battle surrounding it. She moved to kneel back down beside it, but Angel jerked her to attention.

"Damn it, Buffy! Look at me!"

Finally, her eyes raised to his and she stared, unseeing, into his dark, brown orbs.

"This is war Buffy. There'll be time for grieving later. You have to fight." He searched her eyes frantically, looking for any sign of recognition. "Do you understand me?"

Buffy nodded her head ever so slightly, not really comprehending what was going on, but knowing somewhere inside of her that it was the right response.

"Good. Now let's go."

Angel released her and turned back toward the fighting. Just as he did, a demon came at him, and he deftly immersed himself in battle.

Without warning, another demon came at Buffy and her Slayer instincts instantly kicked in. She didn't know what she was doing. Her movements were automatic, unplanned. She was fighting on autopilot, completely disconnected from the battle surrounding her.

She punched, she kicked, she felt her arm being twisted behind her back. Somehow, she felt herself wrench free and deliver another blow. It went on for what seemed like forever. Demon after demon. Ubervamp after ubervamp. She didn't know how many she killed, or where The First was or anything, all she knew was that she had to fight

Suddenly, something exploded behind her. 

A light flashed through the school basement, covering everything in a warm, red glow. The earth was shaking. The walls started to crumble. Buffy kept on fighting. Kicking and punching, and screaming, as she tore into the creatures around her. 

Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong hands on her arms and she was unexpectedly thrown to the ground. Before she knew what had happened, a huge piece of the ceiling caved in, right where she had been standing, and crushed the demon she had just been trying to kill.

Relief didn't even register with Buffy. She just picked herself up and tried to step back into the fight.

"No you don't." Angel's strong voice broke through the thunder of the collapsing building, as he picked her up in his arms, and started carrying her away from the action.

Buffy squirmed a little, wanting to be free, wanting to get back to the fighting. If she stopped fighting, she'd have to think. And God help her, she couldn't think.

"Where's Dawn?" Xander's frantic voice cut through the din.

"I'm right here," she said, as she hobbled up beside Buffy and Angel, clutching Spike's duster closed at her chest.

"We've got to get out of here," Angel said. "Xander take Dawn. Get her to safety. I've got to get Buffy out of here, before she does something stupid."

"Angel!" Cordelia yelled across the chaos. 

Angel turned to look at her. "Get everyone out. Everyone!" he commanded. "There's nothing more to do. It's time to retreat and hope for the best."

Cordy nodded in affirmation, and Angel turned back around to make his way toward the exit.

"Let . . . me . . . go!" Buffy demanded coldly, as she struggled in his arms.

"No," he said, as he hurried her across the floor, doing his best to dodge the falling debris. "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed. It's over Buffy. I'm not letting you go off on a suicide mission."

She pulled back her fist to punch him, but he simply shifted her weight in his arms and maneuvered her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!"

"No."

"Angel!"

"No."

"Please?" There were tears in her pleading.

"No." He tightened his grip on her protectively and made his way out of the basement.


	2. When the Dust Settles

Chapter Two: When the Dust Settles

Three days had passed. Three horrific, heartrending days. Dawn didn't know how they were going to survive it. That was the thing about Apocalypses. Even if you survived them, there was always hell to pay in the end. Always heartache, and suffering. No one ever got off Scot-free.

Faith was dead. Kennedy was dead. So were Rhona and Amanda and most of the Potential Slayers. Andrew had somehow managed to survive, but it was little consolation. And worst of all, Spike was gone.

Dawn paced back and forth across the living room, idly listening to the arguing going on around her. Once she had gotten home and gotten some rest, she had begun to heal quite nicely. Still, Giles had forced her to stay in bed for two whole days. This was her first afternoon spent with the gang. 

The living room was fairly empty, compared to what it had been just days earlier. The Potentials who had survived, had all gone back to their respective homes. Even though Faith was dead, not one of them had been called, and no one was quite sure why. The LA gang had headed back home the day after the battle, leaving only Angel and Cordelia behind. Giles was still present and accounted for, as were Willow, Xander and Anya.

But Buffy was another story.

After watching Spike explode into a big cloud of dust, Buffy had just lost it. She had not spoken since Angel had dragged her, kicking and screaming, from the battle. Now she was just sitting on the couch, her eyes glazed and unfocused, completely unresponsive to the chaos around her.

Willow was kneeling on the floor in front of Buffy. Giles had left her in charge when he and Xander had gone out to do research. 

"I think it could be dangerous," Willow said. "I remember how difficult it was last time to get her out of this. I'm not sure I could do it again. And even if I could get in there, and get through to her? I'm not sure her mind could take it. We might lose her completely. For good."

"Well, we have to do something," Angel said angrily as he too paced across the carpet. "She has to break out of this. She can't stay like this forever."

"And I don't think she will." Willow gently stroked Buffy's hand, trying to offer her some comfort, some solace. "I think she just needs some time to get passed what's happened. She's still in shock."

"It's been three days!"

"I know." She looked up at Angel, her warm eyes soft and compassionate. "But it may take more time than that. Once she's been able to accept what's happened, then maybe she'll be able to snap out of this. Right now, I think her mind really just needs to heal." Willow pushed herself up off the floor, and sat down beside Buffy. 

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Angel asked, still obviously frustrated.

"Be here for her? Offer her support?"

"But we're not going to be here," Cordelia said, as she moved up to stand beside Angel, wrapping her arm supportively around his. "We go back to LA tomorrow."

"I know. But the rest of us will be here. Me, Xander, Giles, Dawn."

"And me. Don't forget about me," Anya interjected. "Just because I've never really been friends with Buffy, doesn't mean I won't be here for her. After all, I did help save the world too."

"And Anya," Willow added grudgingly. "The point is, she isn't alone, and we'll find someway to pull her through this."

"Willow." Angel cocked his head and motioned for her to join him for a private conversation in the back of the room. 

Dawn stopped pacing and leaned up against the back wall, her arms folded across her chest. She listened as Willow and Angel had it out.

"Did you even tell her about Faith?" he asked harshly. "About the Potentials? About anything?"

"No." Willow looked downcast. "I'm not sure it would even register at this point. Faith made the ultimate sacrifice. Gave up her life to close the Hellmouth and save the world. But I don't know what that would mean to Buffy right now, even if she could understand it. Watching Spike . . . watching Spike die, was too much for her. I can't explain it, but--"

"Of course you can explain it," he interrupted her. "She thinks she's nothing without him, her life is nothing without him. She's wrong," he said, his voice hard and uncompromising.

"I know."

"Then convince her of that. You know," he began to rant to himself, "I can't even believe we're having this conversation. This is Spike we're talking about. Spike! What the hell has happened to Buffy that Spike's the one she goes catatonic over? Not Faith, not the Potentials. But Spike! The evil, bloodsucking fiend."

Angel stopped and looked around the room, finally noticing that everyone was staring at him. He pulled Willow a little closer and lowered his voice. "She has to snap out of this," he said. "She has to get over this and move on with her life. She's the Slayer. She may be the last Slayer for all we know. She needs to be aware and capable at all times."

"I'll deal with it. Just trust me, okay?"

Dawn watched as Willow drifted back to the couch to be with Buffy. Her heart was in her chest, as she looked helplessly on. There was nothing she could do to reach her sister. How desperately she had tried, but nothing worked. 

Dawn felt like she was dying. Spike was gone, and somehow he had managed to take Buffy with him. For the first time in a long time, she felt terribly alone. She had only been on this earth for three years and already she had had to watch her mother die, and her sister, and now Spike. She smiled bitterly to herself. How many times could you watch your family being ripped apart before you finally lost it?

In spite of their past differences, Dawn had really loved Spike. She had thought he would always be there - he _was_ immortal after all. She had always thought there would be time to reconcile. To heal and forgive. But there wasn't. He had died thinking she hated him. And now Buffy was slowly slipping away too. It was too much to bear.

Fighting back the tears that were threatening to overtake her, Dawn moved across the room and sat on the other side of Buffy, wrapping her arm around her sister and leaning her head down to rest on Buffy's shoulder. 

"It'll be alright," she whispered. "I promise. We'll get through this Buffy. I promise."

The tears came in spite of all her efforts to the contrary. 

Willow moved closer and wrapped her arms around Buffy and Dawn, trying to comfort them both, to no avail.

"This has to end," Dawn heard Angel say from somewhere across the room. "And if Willow can't fix it, I will."


	3. Angel for the Defense

Chapter Three: Angel for the Defense

"I thought the Oracles were dead," Angel said, as he ran a frustrated hand through his gel-laden hair. Suddenly the confines of his office seemed to be too much for him.

"Well, they were," Cordelia said, as she leaned back in the chair behind Angel's desk and watched him frantically pacing back and forth in front of her. "But you know, these things run in cycles. One pair of Oracles die, another is born. It's the way these things work. The Powers That Be can really do anything they want." She shrugged.

"So you think this will work?"

"I don't know." She pushed herself out of the chair and rounded the desk, standing directly in front of Angel, effectively putting a stop to his pacing. "Even if it does though, I'm not sure it's such a good idea."

"Right, well, as ideas go? It's the only one I've got."

Angel maneuvered around Cordelia and started searching through the items littered across his desk. He had to find something to give as an offering.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" 

"No. But what choice do I have?" He put down a heavy, lead paperweight, and picked up a silver letter opener, thrusting it through the air like a sword. He shrugged and put it back down on the desk. "You were a higher being, what do higher beings like to be bribed with? Something shiny?"

"Here." She pulled a crystal orb from one of the book shelves. "It's not really shiny, but at least they can see their reflection in it. Who knows, maybe it'll be just the distraction you need to get them to grant this ridiculous request."

"It isn't ridiculous."

"Oh really? 'Cause, it's totally normal for you to want to go to The Powers and beg for the life of an evil, bloodsucking vampire, who stole your best girl?"

"She's not my best girl."

"Well, thank you for the compliment. But the point is Angel, how do you think this is going to work?"

"I don't know, exactly. I told you about the first time I went to see the Oracles, that time Buffy came and--"

"And you became mortal and time got erased, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I remember. Even if I don't remember, I remember you telling me about it."

"Well, when the Oracles discovered I was human, they questioned me. Asked if I had saved humanity or averted an Apocalypse."

"Which makes you think that The Powers might grant Spike his mortality if you go plead for his life."

"Something like that. Look, Cordy," he moved closer to her, putting his hands on her arms and leaning down to look her directly in the eyes. "I have to try this. It's been a week, and still nothing has gotten through to Buffy. I don't have much choice."

He let her go, and began absently fiddling with the mess on his desk. 

"Are you sure you can deal with Spike being human?"

"I don't know if he'll be human. I don't know what kind of favor they can grant me. But I have to try. For Buffy's sake."

***

A few hours later, Angel felt that he was ready. Cordelia took him to the portal under the post office. The same place Doyle had brought him all those years ago.

"Just be careful, okay? Don't make any deals that sacrifice your life for Spike's. You got that?"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Good luck Angel," she said softly, before rising up on her toes to kiss him. 

A small smile tugged at his lips. "See you in less than a second."

Cordelia tuned to the basin in front of her and sprinkled some magic herbs inside. Setting the scatterings aflame, she beseeched The Powers for entrance.

An instant later, the portal opened up, and Angel was able to step inside.

He found himself standing before the Oracles - a man and a woman, apparently twins, with gold and blue flesh and an otherworldly quality about them. They were dressed in ancient Roman garb, and their surroundings were austere to say the least.

"So, we meet again," the man said.

"Well . . . not really," Angel stammered. "I think I met your older siblings?"

"We are all the same. Time and space do not follow the same rules for us, as they do for lower beings. We have met before."

"All right. If you say so."

"What have you brought us, vampire?" the woman asked as she stepped down off the platform she was standing on and moved closer to him.

"Uh, this," he said, pulling the orb from behind his back and presenting it before her.

She levitated the orb off his palm and floated it through the air, into her own. She raised it to eye level, and examined it curiously. "Pretty," she said, "if a bit useless." She shrugged and turned her attention back to Angel. "For what purpose do you seek us out?"

Angle pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and took a step forward. "There is a vampire, Spike. He died in battle, defending the earth against The First. I've come to ask for his life back."

"And I thought only mortals were that foolish," the man said as he turned to his sister and laughed. "Do you really think we can be bothered with such things?" he asked Angel.

"I don't see why not. When I came to you years ago, you gave me the impression that a vampire could be turned mortal if he had proven himself, averted an Apocalypse, fought for a noble cause."

"But your friend died during the battle," the woman interjected. "He did not avert the Apocalypse at all. Others did that."

"Okay, first," Angel said, "he's not my friend. And second, everyone who fought in that battle helped avert the Apocalypse. He died for the cause."

"Interesting." The female Oracle stepped closer and began circling around Angel, eyeing him curiously. Finally she stopped in front of him. "You say this vampire was not your friend, but you come to plead for his life. Why?"

"Because, he died for a noble cause."

"Wrong," the male twin said as he joined them on the floor. "You do it for her. You do everything for her."

"All right, so, yeah." He shrugged. "Look, we need her, and apparently she needs him. It's all I can do."

"But you love her," the woman said as she raised her hand and lovingly caressed the air around Angel, as if trying to caress his cheek. "Why would you willingly give her to another man?"

"Because she loves him, and I don't have much choice."

"You always have a choice," her brother said. 

"Not in this case."

"Very well then." The woman turned and ascended the two steps to the platform where she had started. 

Her brother followed. 

"Convince us."

"Beg your pardon?" Angel asked.

"Convince us to resurrect this lowly vampire, to petition The Powers That Be for his life."

"Okay." Angel racked his brain, searching for anything to say in Spike's defense. It wasn't that Spike hadn't done some good during his time on earth, but Angel had always willingly ignored those rare anomalies. "Well, he . . ." Angel took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. He didn't like talking about the whole soul business, but it was all he could come up with. "He got his soul back, for Buffy. He sought it out on his own. So she could love him."

"And you think this is noble?" the woman asked.

"Isn't it? A vampire with a soul? Even the Gypsies knew that was a curse. Spike went ahead and sought it out anyway."

"And do you know why?" the man asked.

"Because he wanted Buffy to be able to love him."

"No. Because he wanted Buffy to be able to forgive him."

"Forgive him for what?"

"You don't know?" The girl looked surprised, her face contorting with dread and concern.

"Know what?" Angel laughed.

"What he did, that she had to forgive him for?"

Angel shook his head absently. "Killing hundreds and hundreds of people? Being an unbelievable pain in the ass?"

The twins turned their heads in unison and looked at each other. They seemed to be communicating silently. Finally the man turned to Angel and asked, "Would you like to see what your noble vampire has done?"

Angel felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he couldn't refuse them their offer. "All right. But if it is just a century of bloodshed, remember, I was there for most of it. You can just stick with the highlights."

"Look, and see," the woman said, as she raised her hand and a shimmery image appeared before them. 

Angel turned to where she had directed. Slowly, the wavy image came into focus. 

__

It was Buffy. She was in her bathroom, getting ready to take a bath. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing a light gray bathrobe. She seemed to be in some sort of pain.

Angel's chest tightened. Why the hell were they showing him this? What did it have to do with Spike? 

__

A moment later the door opened, and Spike stepped inside. "Are you hurt? You're not moving so well," he said, as he closed the door behind him.

"Get out," Buffy said, turning to look at him. There was a definite hardness in her voice.

Angel clenched his fists. He didn't like where this was going. Buffy was injured. And what the hell was Spike doing in her bathroom?!

Angel watched their exchange with palpable anxiety. 

__

They argued, back and forth. Buffy made some reference to Spike sleeping with Anya. 

That was news, but was it really unforgivable? 

__

And then Buffy declared that she could never love him, and Spike made his move.

__

Slyly, he made his way toward Buffy. He pulled her to him and began touching her, trying to kiss her. Trying to convince her to let herself love him.

Buffy began to struggle.

Angel could feel every muscle in his body tighten. The borrowed blood felt like it was pounding through his veins. He took a step forward, toward the floating image, intent on rescuing her, when a knowing voice stopped him.

"There's nothing you can do for her," the female Oracle said. "This is in the past. Just watch."

Angel steeled his nerves, trying desperately not to let his anger show, not to scream at the mirage hovering before him. 

__

Spike pushed Buffy to the floor, her back hitting the side of the tub with a sickening "thud." 

It turned Angel's stomach. 

__

And still, Spike didn't seem to care or notice that he was hurting Buffy.

This . . . this was the man - the thing? - that Buffy had chosen to spend her life with? Angel was appalled! How had she been able to chose Spike even after this horrifying display of rabid beastliness? 

Angel continued to watch in horror.

__

Spike pinned Buffy to the floor. She was pleading now, desperately begging him to stop, to let her go. But he wouldn't. 

Angel didn't think he could stand to see the final outcome. He tore his eyes away and stared blankly at the floor.

"I don't want to see anymore of this. Make it stop."

"Are you sure?" the woman asked. "Don't you want to see how it ends?"

"I don't need to see how it ends."

"Very well," she said, as she raised her hand to wave the offending image away.

"Wait!" Angel looked up at her. He had to know. It looked bad, very bad. But without seeing it through there was no way to know what had actually happened. Buffy was in no state to tell him, and Spike . . . well Spike had taken it with him to his very dusty end. Angel had to know, even if it meant suffering through the torment of watching Spike violate the woman they both claimed to love.

"I want to see it. Show me the end."

"Are you certain?"

"Just get it over with."

The Oracle simply shrugged and restarted the scene, beginning it from the exact second Angel had turned away.

__

There was more struggling. 

"I know you felt it. . . . when I was inside you . . ." Spike said, as he stared down at her, his eyes crazed and vicious.

"Don't . . . please, please Spike. Please don't do this. Please don't do this," she pleaded.

"You'll feel it again, Buffy. I'm gonna make you feel it." Spike ripped her robe and moved to make good on his threat

"Stop!" 

That single word, followed by a loud crash. 

Angel caught an unneeded breath.

__

Buffy had pushed Spike off of her. He had landed in a heap on the other side of the room.

Buffy dragged herself up from the floor and pulled her robe closed protectively. "Ask me again why I could never love you!"

And there the image stopped. The mirage disappeared and the room was suddenly silent.

For a long time Angel couldn't move. Even though the image had been removed from his sight, he could still see the horror being replayed before his eyes. Over and over again. Spike had tried to rape Buffy. Oh God. Angel felt like he was going to fall through the floor.

"Do you still wish to defend the vampire?" the male Oracle asked, as he watched Angel intently.

Slowly, Angel turned to look at the two loftier-than-thou higher beings. There was a quiet rage burning behind his eyes.

"Why did you show me this?"

"You had to see," the girl said, as she descended a single step closer to him. "You had to know what you were fighting for. Who you were defending."

"And now that you do, I ask you again. Do you still wish to defend the vampire?"

Angel gritted his teeth and tried to think. His gut instinct was to say "no," to tell them to let Spike rot in hell for all eternity. But he knew better than that. That's just what they were expecting, just what the Oracles and The Powers wanted.

Angel steadied himself, and tried to sort through the turmoil in his head. Spike had obviously not succeeded in raping Buffy, and Buffy had obviously managed to forgive him. But was it enough? If Angel had his way he _would_ let Spike burn, but could he do that to Buffy? What good would she be to any of them if she never snapped out of the fog she was in? There would be time for questions and repercussions later. Angel knew what he had to do.

Taking a hard, shuddering breath he said, "Yes."

"Even knowing what he has done?" the man asked, not bothering to mask the amazement in his voice.

"Yes."

"You love her that much?" the girl said, as she descended another step and searched Angel's eyes, obviously fascinated.

"I want her back. Among the living," he said, a hard edge to his voice. "What . . . he . . . has done, is in the past. Buffy forgave him. Who am I to hold a grudge against him?"

"But you do."

"But that doesn't matter. We need her, and if bringing back Spike is the only way to reach her, then so be it."

"You speak well for her character, but what of the vampire?" the brother questioned.

"You still want me to defend him?"

"That is why you're here."

"Fine." Angel looked about the room, his eyes narrowed with thinly veiled rage, searching for something to say in Spike's defense. There was only one thing he could say. "Buffy loves him. Loves him more than she loved me. What better defense can I offer than that?"

"You truly are a higher being," the woman chimed, as she gazed at him in obvious awe and appreciation. "We shall see what we can do." She turned and joined her brother on the top step.

"And Spike?" Angel asked. "Will he be a vampire or a mortal?"

"Which would you prefer?" the man asked.

"Oh. I don't know. Whatever's better for Buffy, I guess."

"Granted," the female Oracle said. She raised a gold and blue shimmering hand in the air and pointed toward the doorway, "Goodbye, noble vampire."

Angel knew better than to stay once he had been dismissed. He turned and made his way back through the portal. He felt his limbs starting to tremble, his mind humming with a dizzying haze, all the anger and frustration of the past few minutes finally catching up with him. His insides were roiling, his mind a tumult of conflicting emotion. He just hoped he had done the right thing. 


	4. The Vision

Chapter Four: The Vision

Everything was dark - her mind a cloudy, black haze. She couldn't see or think or feel. She was numb - completely and totally numb - from head to toe. Buffy lay still in her bed, her eyes closed, existing somewhere between the worlds of wake and sleep. Suddenly, a light shone through the darkness.

Where there had once been a vacuum, now there was light. Frantic images started crowding her head, swimming about, fighting for space. 

The battle. She saw the battle. 

Everything was masked in a blood red haze. She could see the demons falling, see her friends falling. There was screaming and bloodshed. She felt trapped. Desperately alone and trapped.

Buffy began tossing in her sleep. The blood was pumping faster through her veins, and she was desperately struggling to break free of the nightmare.

Then the picture changed. 

Everything was calm. 

She saw Spike, standing before her. He was watching her curiously, questioning her with his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, to take a step forward and touch him, but she couldn't. Try as she might, her body refused to move. 

And then, before she knew what was happening, the battle was once again surrounding them. The demon she had seen kill Spike was lumbering up behind him. She tried to call his name, but she couldn't. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound wouldn't come. Spike continued to stare at her. Buffy struggled against the chains of her nightmare, to no avail. Paralyzed and helpless, she watched again as Spike received a stake through the heart and disappeared in a burst of ashes.

Her limbs were twitching now, her body trembling with her frenzied struggle. She threw her arm out over the side of her bed and hit the lamp on the bedside table, knocking it to the floor. Even the sound of the crash wasn't enough to wake her from her nightmare.

In an instant, the cloud of dust dissipated to reveal a steady stream of frenetic images. All of Spike. She saw him as William. Saw him as William the Bloody. As Spike. It seemed his entire life was flashing before her eyes. More than a hundred and forty years sped before her in a matter of seconds, everything from his birth to his turning, to his ultimate death just a week earlier. 

The images were jumbled, horribly out of sequence and disturbing in their intensity. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but she couldn't do anything. Just lie there and watch as her mind fought to make some sense of the chaos before her.

One moment she was seeing Spike slaughter a dozen people. The next, he was taking care of Dawn after Buffy had died two years ago. Now he was killing again. There was no method to the madness, just a random assault on her senses. 

She felt warm hands on her arms. Someone was shaking her. Buffy tried to break free of the dream, but couldn't. Somewhere in the distance a voice was calling her name.

"Buffy, wake up. Buffy!"

Buffy's eyes shot open, and she realized she was sitting up in bed. Dawn was just inches in front of her, perched on the edge of the mattress, her hands gripping her sister's arms tightly. 

Buffy was shaking, her breath coming in heavy pants. Her skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and in spite of the fact that she had just woken up, she felt like she was going to pass out. 

"Buffy, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Dawn asked frantically, as she moved closer and searched Buffy's clouded eyes.

"What . . .?" It was barely a whisper.

"Oh thank God!" Dawn exclaimed, as she threw her arms around Buffy and wrapped her in a warm, desperate hug. 

Buffy could hear the faint sound of her sister's crying. Gently, she pushed Dawn away so she could get a better look at her. Dawn seemed to be in one piece. She looked healthy, unscathed. She looked like she had just been roused from a fitful sleep herself. "What happened?"

"You had a dream. A nightmare. You knocked the lamp over, and--"

"No. Not that." Buffy shook her head absently, trying to clear her fogged brain. "The battle? Did we win?"

Dawn couldn't suppress a laugh. "Uh . . . no. We didn't win. And for some inexplicable reason, heaven just happens to look a lot like your bedroom back in Sunnydale."

Buffy gave her sister a censorious look.

"Of course we won. Saved the world. Carried the day. Averted another Apocalypse. What else is new?"

"And Spike?" Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Buffy already knew the answer to her question, but she still needed to hear someone say it.

Dawn dropped her eyes and slid her hand over Buffy's, squeezing it gently. "He didn't make it," she said quietly.

For a long, painful moment, Buffy just sat there, perfectly still. She had known what they were risking when they had gone into battle, but knowing the risk and actually living with the consequences were two different things. Buffy had thought if Spike died, that she would die too. How was she supposed to keep on living, now that he was gone?

Buffy pulled her hand away and shifted off the bed. Wrapping her arms around herself, she drifted over to the window and stared out into the street. "Who . . . else . . . did we lose?"

Dawn turned on the bed so she was facing Buffy, but she made no move to join her sister. "Faith. Kennedy. Rhona, Amanda. More than half the Potentials."

"Anyone else?"

"No. Everyone else made it out okay."

"And the new Slayer?" Buffy asked.

"We don't know," Dawn said, as she nervously folded her hands between her knees and began bouncing the heels of her feet on the floor. "None of the Potentials were called. Giles doesn't know what's going on. With the Council gone, he's not sure how this thing is supposed to work."

Buffy shook her head again, and turned her body slightly back toward the room. "How did we defeat it?" she asked, catching a glimpse of Dawn over her shoulder.

"Faith. She . . . she sacrificed herself. Threw herself into the Hellmouth, and restored the balance of Slayer power. At least, we figure that's what did it. The Hellmouth is gone. Apparently, the life of one Slayer was enough to destroy it for good. Now Sunnydale is just your average vampire and demon infested burb. No different than New York, or Chicago, or any other town."

"Uh huh," Buffy mumbled, barely audibly.

"What?"

"Oh." Buffy turned around to face Dawn now, her arms still wrapped tightly around her chest. "It's just that those shaman, or whatever they were, who instituted the Slayer line in the first place, told me I was going to be the last Slayer to protect the Hellmouth. I guess they weren't kidding." Buffy sank down beside Dawn on the bed and stared straight ahead. "So now what do we do?" 

"I don't know. Everyone was just waiting to see what would happened when you joined the land of the living again. Now you're here, I guess we have to figure out what to do."

"How long . . . how long was I gone?"

A small smile pulled at Dawn's lips as she answered, "A hundred and forty-seven days?"

"You're kidding," Buffy said, dumbfounded.

"Of course I'm kidding. You've only been out to lunch for nine days now."

"Good," Buffy mumbled absently. After a long silence she said, "Dawn?"

"Yeah, Buff?"

"Are you all right?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Now that you're here." Dawn wrapped her arm around Buffy's and cuddled up close to her. "We'll get through this together. Somehow, we'll find a way to make it work."

Buffy sighed and leaned her head against Dawn's. Slowly, she let her eyelids drift shut, and tried to lose herself in the vast blackness clouding her vision. But it was no use. An image appeared before her, a strange yet familiar image. She had seen it before. Right before Dawn had woken her up.

It was Spike. He was standing in front of her. He was completely naked. 

Buffy's heart skipped a beat, but not with arousal. With fear. 

He looked so different. His hair had grown out. It was brown, not blond. He looked very much like the William she had seen in her vision - except for the naked part. He was looking around searchingly. He seemed to be confused.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to discern any detail of his surroundings, or what was going on. But she could make out nothing. Just Spike, pale and vulnerable, standing in a vast, empty darkness. 

A painful shudder coursed through Buffy's body as she watched him helplessly. She wondered if he was in hell, if she was seeing him as he was now. She could feel tears stinging behind her eyes, but she couldn't open them. She would never open her eyes again, if it meant that she could continue to see Spike.

Finally, however, the image faded, and Buffy was greeted by a warm, mindless sleep.


	5. Morning Has Broken

Chapter Five: Morning Has Broken

The next morning dawned bright and early in the Summers home. Dawn couldn't wait to wake everyone and tell them that Buffy was okay. 

Willow was still living with them, of course, but Giles was staying with Xander. Dawn had called there first thing and woken a very grumpy Giles from his sleep. She had begged him and Xander to come over and join them for breakfast, but Xander had said he couldn't make it. After all, he was the only one among them who had a real job. 

When Giles finally arrived, Willow made everyone sit down in the dinning room for a full chocolate-chip-pancake-and-bacon-and-eggs breakfast.

"And you're sure you're feeling all right?" Giles asked, as he stirred the cup of tea Willow had brought him. He was watching Buffy curiously, like a concerned parent.

"Yeah, I feel fine," she answered, heaping her plate with two stacks of pancakes. "I can't believe I was out for an entire week. I certainly feel like I haven't eaten in a week."

"Giles was really worried," Willow said, as she finished serving and joined them at the table. "We all were."

"I know. But I'm fine now."

They all looked at her suspiciously.

"Really!"

Giles cleared his throat and everyone went back to eating. 

"So what exactly was it that freed you from your catatonic state?" he asked. "Dawn said you were having a nightmare. Do you remember what it was about?"

Buffy could feel the blood freeze in her veins. She didn't want to think about the nightmare. The vision. Whatever it was. She didn't want to think about Spike. Didn't want to break down in front of her friends. 

She picked up a bottle of syrup and lifted it high above her plate. Focusing intently on the liquid trickling from the bottle she said, "It was about the battle. Just reliving scenes from it. That's all."

"Scenes?" Giles asked. "What kind of scenes?"

"Oh, you know. Death, screaming, horror and bloodshed. Same old, same old." She put the syrup down and cut into her pancakes with the side of her fork.

Giles leaned forward, concern evident in his very distinguished face. "Buffy. Was there anything else? Anything out of the ordinary? That battle has been haunting you ever since it happened. I can't believe that all of a sudden, the memory would just snap you out of your catatonia."

"Well it did." She turned to look at him. "Look Giles, I know it doesn't make much sense. But I relived the battle last night. And then . . . and then I saw . . ." Buffy couldn't finish. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she found herself unable to speak.

"Spike," Dawn provided.

Buffy hadn't told Dawn about the dream, but they all knew. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.

"I see," Giles said. He turned back toward his breakfast and they proceeded to eat in silence.

A few minutes later, the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Dawn said, jumping out of her chair and dashing to the kitchen. She picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hello? Summers residence."

"Hey Dawn? It's Angel."

"Angel? Hi how are you? You'll never believe what's happened!"

"Spike came back from the dead?" he asked, tentatively.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just called to see if there was any change in Buffy's condition. Is she all right?"

"Yeah. She's more than all right. She's alive and awake, and in the dinning room stuffing her face with a mound of pancakes."

"Well, sounds like Buffy. Can I talk to her?" he asked, his voice a little weary.

"Oh yeah, sure. Hold on a sec."

Dawn brought the cordless phone into the dinning room and handed it to Buffy. "Here. It's for you."

Buffy stared at the phone curiously before bringing it to her ear. Who even knew that she was out of her catatonic state? "Hello?" she asked with slight trepidation. 

"Buffy? It's me, Angel."

"Angel!" 

Giles and Willow both stopped eating and stared at Buffy.

"I just called to see if everything was all right. If you were okay."

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine now. Really. I just came out of it last night. Everything's fine. I've got Giles here, and Willow. And we're all fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Because you just said you were fine like three times. Buffy, is there something I can do?"

"What? No," she started pulling at her napkin with her free hand. "There's nothing to be done here. I think we all just need some time to get past what's happened that's all. So," she rattled on, before he could contradict her, "how are Cordelia, and Wes and the whole gang?"

"Fine. Just fine."

"Good," she said cheerily. "Then everybody's fine and everything's okay. I'm really glad you called Angel. And I'm really glad you're safe. If you need anything, just let us know. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure Buffy. Whatever you say."

"So, that's it then right?"

"Um. Well. No actually."

"There's something else?"

"Buffy," he began, but he didn't finish. He sighed into the phone. "Never mind. It's not really important. Look, if anything strange happens in the next couple of days, promise me you'll call me. I've heard there might be something going down in Sunnydale. Nothing to get alarmed about, mind you. But there may be some unusual activity within the next couple of days. Promise me you'll call."

"I promise."

"Okay good." He hesitated. "So, I guess that's it then."

"I guess so."

"Bye Buffy."

"Bye Angel." She hit the "end" button on the phone and placed it down on the table.

"And just what was that about?" Giles questioned, in his best fatherly voice.

"Angel just wanted to know if I was okay," she said absently. "Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about. Really."

***

Later that day, Buffy was roaming around the house, trying to take her mind off the chaos in her head. She didn't want to think about anything - about Spike, or Faith, or anyone else that they had lost. She just wanted to be numb.

Upstairs, Buffy noticed that the door to Willow's room was half-open. Peeking inside, she saw Willow sitting on the edge of the bed, staring listlessly at a framed picture in her hands. 

Buffy knocked quietly and pushed the door open a little more. "Can I come it?" she asked tentatively.

Willow looked up, startled. "Oh sure, sure." She put the picture facedown on the bed beside her.

Buffy entered the room and closed the door. She sat down next to Willow on the corner of the mattress. Buffy knew Willow had been through a lot, losing Kennedy. She just didn't know how to offer her condolences. "How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine. Still here," she said looking down at herself and then back up at Buffy. "Yup, that's definitely me."

"Will, I just want you to know how sorry I am that . . ."

"It's okay Buff. I'm dealing. I just think I'm going to stay very, very far away from romantic entanglements for a while. Like maybe till the end of time?"

"I know what you mean," Buffy said somberly, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry."

"No." She looked up at Willow. "It's okay. Really. I just have to learn to deal, that's all. It's gonna take some time. A lot of time. I . . ." Buffy gave up. Somehow it was a lot easier to put up a front for Giles than it was to do it for Willow. She knew she was starting to break down. "I will just . . . have to get past it. That's all."

"Easier said than done."

"I know." Buffy felt her chest tightening, the tears threatening to come once again. She inhaled a sharp breath and determined not to cry. She looked at Willow. "That's Tara isn't it?"

Willow picked up the picture and looked at it again. "Yeah. I can't stop thinking about her. Can't stop feeling guilty."

"You shouldn't feel guilty Will. Tara wouldn't have wanted that."

"I know. But it doesn't make it any easier. I miss her. And with Kennedy gone, I just . . . I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I just shouldn't get close to anyone, because every time I do . . ." her voice broke with a sob, and Buffy moved closer, wrapping her arms around her best friend.

"That's not it Will," Buffy said, trying to comfort her. "It's not you. It's just the way life works. Every Spring the Apocalypse comes, and every year we lose someone else. Sometimes more than one someone. It's life on the Hellmouth."

"The Hellmouth's gone," Willow said, pulling away a little.

"Then maybe it'll be over. Maybe that'll be an end to it. Maybe we won't lose anyone else."

"You don't really believe that."

"Well, no. Not really. But hey? It sounded good." Buffy sighed lightly. "Will, is there anything I can do?"

"What?" Willow looked at her in surprise. "No. No. Nothing at all. You just concentrate on getting better. That's all that matters. The rest will take care of itself, I guess."

"You're sure?"

"Yes Buffy. It's all right. I'll be okay." 

Willow patted Buffy's hand gently. 

They continued to sit there in silence, both lost in their own grief.


	6. One Major Post Apocalyptic Hangover

Chapter Six: One Major Post-Apocalyptic Hangover

Three days later, the sun was just cresting the horizon; a new day breaking over the sleepy town of Sunnydale, California. The high school was quiet - well the remains of the high school were quiet. For the second time in less than five years, the school had been reduced to a veritable pile of rubble. Dark and deserted. Quiet as the grave. 

Amid the fallen debris that littered what used to be the basement, something stirred.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, as he pushed himself up on one of his elbows, and grabbed the back of his head with his free hand. The pain was excruciating. What the hell had he been sleeping on?!

Grudgingly, he forced his eyes open and tried to take in the scene around him. It was dark. He couldn't see very well. A thin shaft of light was shining through a jagged crack in the ceiling, offering the only source of illumination. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

His head was swimming. Where the hell was he? He couldn't remember anything, at first. There was something about a battle. A battle against The First. The Apocalypse. Oh God! The last thing he remembered was fighting a giant, stone-like demon, and then . . . then she called his name, he saw her face and . . ."

The blood rushed out of Spike's face, and he turned an even ghostlier white than his normal pallor. Buffy. Oh God! Where was Buffy?!

He pushed himself out of the pile of rubble he was lying in and stood on what was left of the basement floor. A cold draft instantly enveloped him, and he realized for the first time that he was naked.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" If this was someone's idea of a joke, he certainly didn't think it was funny.

Cautiously maneuvering his way through the ruins - through memory and instinct - he found himself in a familiar corner of the basement. Rummaging through some old boxes, he found something to wear - a shirt and some jeans, but no shoes and nothing more to cover himself with. He had a vague memory of doing the same thing, the night he had first put his duster back on, the night he had "come back." 

Frustrated by his inability to see in the dark, he felt his way along the walls, and made his way up the stairs. Something beneath his feet creaked sickeningly, as he crested the final step and found himself on the first floor. 

There was light in the hallway. The warm, pink glow of sunrise faintly permeated the shattered, boarded-up windows and the holes in the walls. Spike scanned the area for any sign of life, but there was none. He wondered if anyone had survived the Apocalypse.

Sighing heavily, he brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it in frustration. In a moment of calm and reflection, his hand stilled, and for the first time he noticed a small, muffled beat beneath his skin.

Spike pulled his hand away from his neck as if it had been burned. He stared down at his palm, unblinking, scared to wonder what it meant. 

Stunned, his breath caught in his chest, he slowly raised two fingers to the side of his neck. 

A beat. 

He felt a beat. 

And then another. 

And then another. 

A pulse was beating in his neck. It picked up speed as he stood there, timing it with his fingers. 

His breath quickened. It took him a minute to realize that his chest was heaving and air was pulsing from his lungs in short, agitated bursts.

Spike's eyes widened and he dropped his hand from his neck. "Bloody hell," he whispered. It was all he could think to say.

With great difficulty, he forced himself to take one long, steadying breath. There had to be a reason for what was happening to him. A good, logical reason. Maybe this was hell. Maybe he was doomed to spend all eternity living in the school basement, burdened by his long forgotten humanity. Then again, maybe not.

Slowly, Spike managed to make his way down the hall. He pressed himself up against the inside wall, tying desperately to avoid the sunlight that was beckoning to him. If he had a pulse, if he had a heartbeat, if he was mortal, could the sun really hurt him? How desperately he longed to find out.

Inching along the wall, he noticed something shimmering a few feet in front of him - a small, unbroken window in a classroom door. 

Keeping his eye on it - lest it disappear before he reached it - he moved up to the window, and turned to look at it. The lighting being what it was, he could make out the faint image of a man staring back at him. His reflection. Something he hadn't seen in more than a hundred and twenty years.

Now Spike's heart did begin to race. He could feel the blood pounding through his veins and there was nothing he could do to slow its course. Tentatively, he raised a trembling hand to the glass and traced the outline of the dark figure before him. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, watching the figure, squinting his eyes trying to discern any detail. There was little to see - just a dark, fuzzy reflection, watching him from within the glass.

Finally, Spike managed to pull himself away. If he had a heartbeat, and if he had a reflection, then what did he have to fear from the sunlight?

Turning around slowly, he took a cautious step forward. A stream of light cascaded over the tops of his bare toes, but he hesitated to step any further into the sun.

Holding his breath, he wiggled his toes, waiting to feel the familiar burn of sunlight on vampire skin. He felt no such thing. Just the comforting warmth of morning light on cool flesh. 

Spike inhaled a sharp breath as tears came to his eyes. It had been so long, so long since he had felt the loving warmth of the sun against his skin. He didn't know how to react.

Overcome with emotion, he stepped forward, fully into the light. He closed his eyes, and reveled in the glorious sensation of the sunrise caressing his tired flesh. He felt like he was home.

Spike opened his eyes and wondered, for the first time, if he was in heaven. 

Then he realized, that that wasn't possible. If he were heaven, Buffy would be by his side. There was no heaven without Buffy. No hell either, for that matter. She was his world. Where the hell was she?

Forgetting his shock at the new sensations, he took several confident strides closer to the broken window and stared out into the street. Sunnydale looked very much the way it always had. The high school was in ruins, but everything else looked like a picture postcard.

Spike rested his palms against the low windowsill and leaned forward, putting all his weary weight on his arms. He had to find Buffy. He had to know what had happened to her. What had happened to him. Was she still alive? Was anyone?

***

With great trepidation, Spike made his way out into the street. He knew the sun couldn't hurt him, but still, he flinched when he stepped out of the shadows and into the light. 

Everything felt new to him. The morning breeze against his skin, the feel of the hard pavement beneath his bare feet. Everything smelled different too. As a vampire he had possessed an amazingly keen sense of smell, but somehow, being human, everything smelled sweeter - the air, the flowers, the trees. The world was alive for him for the fist time in more than a century. His blood hummed with excitement.

Following the path to Buffy's house, Spike kept a wary eye on the streets of Sunnydale. The town was relatively quiet. Occasionally, a car would drive past him, or he would see someone coming out to their curb to get the morning paper, but other than that, there was little activity on the streets.

No one seemed to notice him. No one cared that he was out, walking in the sunlight. People just past him by as if he were nothing special. His presence not even causing the slightest stir.

1630 Revello Drive. 

Spike stopped in front of Buffy's house and surveyed the scene. The sun was now an orange-yellow, hovering just above the horizon. It couldn't have been later than six-thirty a.m.

The lights were all off. The house was dark.

Falling back on habit, Spike cocked his ear toward the house and tried to listen for any signs of life. All he heard was the incessant chirping of the birds perched in a nearby tree. He couldn't hear anything from inside.

Spike tried not to panic. He didn't have supersensitive hearing anymore, he reminded himself. It was perfectly logical that he shouldn't hear anyone moving about. He seemed to be mortal now. And apparently, his gifts were restricted to those of the mortal coil.

Moving away from the front of the house, he made his way to the back porch. He had to know if Buffy was still alive. He had to know if she was safe.

The grass was cool beneath his warm feet - cool and wet with morning dew. As he crossed the lawn, he felt patches of moist earth squishing beneath his toes. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation. 

Mounting the stairs cautiously, he came to stand in front of the back door. He rested his hand on the knob and just prayed that it was unlocked.

His breath catching in his chest, he turned the doorknob

It wasn't locked.

Spike exhaled a relieved breath as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The kitchen was dark. Quiet. The clock on the microwave read 6:15. 

Spike treaded lightly across the cold linoleum. His stomach growled as he moved past the center island, his eye catching the tempting site of a brimming bowl of fruit. God, how long had it been since he had eaten? How long had he been gone?

Spike made his way to the calendar on the wall, and stared at it, unblinkingly. The year was still 2003. The month still May. Either he hadn't been gone more than a couple of weeks, or there had been no one around to change the calendar. Spike preferred the former option over the latter. If no one had been in the house in weeks, why was there fresh fruit on the table?

In spite of his stomach's protests, Spike pulled himself out of the kitchen and made for the stairs. If Buffy was still alive, she was probably sleeping. He had to see her.

Blood pounding in his ears, Spike made it to the landing, to the second floor of the house, and stopped. All of the doors were open. 

With slow, measured steps, he moved farther down the hall, coming to stand just beside the nearest open door. It was the Nibblet's room.

Spike inhaled a hard breath and held it in his lungs, as he leaned forward and took a peak inside. He didn't think he had ever been so relieved in all his life. There, curled up snuggly in her bed, was Dawn. She had kicked her blanket off in her sleep, and her arm was wrapped securely around a pillow, clutching it like a teddy bear.

Spike wanted to go to her. To fix her covers and stroke her hair. To touch her and make sure that she was real. But he couldn't. She probably thought he was dead, and it wouldn't do to have her waking up in the middle of a deep sleep and finding him standing beside her bed. She'd scream, and then Buffy would come in and stake him before he had a chance to explain.

Stake him? 

Spike realized for the first time, that that old threat wasn't going to work anymore. Buffy couldn't kill him if he was human. As much as she might want to at times.

Buffy.

Spike pulled himself away from Dawn and moved across the hall. He had to know if Buffy was safe.

The few feet that separated the two doors seemed like miles. Spike could have sworn time stood still as he made his way to Buffy's room.

Stopping just beside the open door, he brought a trembling hand up and gripped the door frame, leaning on it for support. He knew that if he inched forward, just the smallest fraction, his question would be answered. He'd know for sure whether Buffy had lived or died.

Spike closed his eyes and leaned forward. He tried to convince himself that everything was all right, that whatever he saw, he could live with it. Somehow his body wasn't convinced. 

Breaking out into a cold sweat, his heart thrumming against his ribs, he forced his eyes open and surveyed the darkened bedroom.

His heart stopped. It skipped a blessed beat, as his eyes lit on Buffy. 

She was curled up in her bed, safe and secure, the faint sheen of tears glistening against her cheek. She had cried herself to sleep. 

Spike wanted to reach out and touch her. To hold her. To pull her close and never let her go. But he couldn't. He knew it. 

She had her arms wrapped around something - clinging to it, holding it lovingly against her chest. Spike took a tentative step forward to get a closer look at what it was. 

His duster.

A small sob broke in the back of his throat. Buffy was alive, and she still loved him! Oh God! What could he do?

His legs threatening to cave beneath him, he fumbled his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He couldn't let her see him. Not yet. He'd give her a heart attack if she woke up and found him hovering above her. He needed to retreat. Regroup and find a way to break the news to her gently. He didn't want to hurt her. He had to find a way to make his presence known without doing her more harm than good.


	7. Footprints on the Doorstep

Chapter Seven: Footprints on the Doorstep

"Hey, has anyone seen the bowl of fruit that was on the table last night?" Dawn asked as she searched the kitchen. "How am I supposed to have oatmeal without bananas or apples or something to nullify the numbing taste?"

"I don't know," Buffy said, as she sat down on one of the stools and started filling up on the hot porridge. Ever since she had woken from her little self-induced coma, she had had a ravenous appetite. "Here." She handed Dawn a small, open jar. "Why don't you put some cinnamon on it? Just as good as fruit."  


Dawn looked at her sister strangely. "This is paprika. Jeez Buffy, can't you tell the difference?'

Buffy's face fell as she stared down into her bowl of warm cereal. "Oh," she said flatly. "Well, that would explain the strange, peppery taste." Buffy just shrugged and went back to eating. 

Dawn rolled her eyes and went to the spice rack to get the cinnamon. Sitting down beside Buffy, she let her bunny-slippered feet beat against the railing on the stool. "Still doesn't explain what happened to the bowl of fruit."

"Maybe Giles took it. Or Willow. Maybe they're doing a spell. Either that, or they're really, really hungry."

"Who's doing a spell?" Willow asked as she entered the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for the day. She moved to the counter to make herself a cup of tea.

"Oh, we just thought maybe you and Giles were trying something. There seems to be some fruit missing," Dawn supplied, looking up from her Quaker Oats.

"Nope. Don't know any spells involving fruit. Hey, maybe Giles does," she said, turning and looking at them over her shoulder. "I don't know, something to do with Andrew, maybe?"

"This coming from our resident lesbian?" Buffy asked, slightly surprised.

"Well, even I have to admit, Andrew is a bit fruitier than most. So," Willow joined them at the table, "what's the plan for today?"

"We haven't decide yet," Dawn said. "Giles wants us to sit down in front of a big pile of books and figure out this whole Slayer thing. He left early this morning to go do research or something. He expects us to have unlocked all the secrets of the universe by the time he gets back."

"Oh what great fun," Buffy said sarcastically as she shook her head and rolled her eyes heavenward. "You know, if I had known the aftermath of the Apocalypse was going to involve so much work, I think I would have stayed catatonic. It was a lot easier."

Buffy pushed the crimson swirl of paprika around in her bowl. The last few days had been difficult, to say the least. She was trying desperately to put up a good front for her friends, but it only seemed to work about half the time. She didn't want to be seen as brooding or morose, those were qualities better associated with Angel. She just wanted to get through her grief without dragging everyone else down.

Giles was seriously concerned about there not being a new Slayer. He was working on several theories as to why no one had been called after Faith's death. He had narrowed it down to two options. Either, they had missed a Potential somewhere along the way, and there was now a very confused girl with superhuman strength living in the heart of deepest Africa, or some other godforsaken place. Or, there was no Slayer. No one had been called. The thought was frightening. Yes there was no Hellmouth anymore, but still, the world needed a Slayer. There were still vamps roaming around out there, even in Sunnydale. The world needed a new champion. Buffy wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it up on her own.

The days were the easy part. Willow, and Dawn and Xander, all crowded around her, and made sure to keep her busy. They had taken her out to The Bronze, the second day she was conscious. They were having a special party to celebrate the high school being burned down. Again. Most people in Sunnydale didn't know what had really happened, or how many lives had been lost.

The nights . . . well the nights were a different story. Buffy found it impossible to fall asleep without first crying herself into a pitiable stupor. Her heart seemed to break all over again, every time she thought about Spike. The pain was becoming unbearable. 

There was a part of Buffy that didn't want to go on, with him gone. But being the only Slayer, she had no choice. It was her duty. She had to protect Dawn, protect her friends. Even if it meant that she was, once again, just going through the motions, she had to survive for their sakes. But it was becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. 

Buffy knew she wasn't the only one who was grieving. Willow was having difficulty getting over the loss of Kennedy, and even Giles seemed to be depressed over the demise of so many of the Potentials. Still, there were times when Buffy felt alone in her misery.

They sat there in silence for a few more minutes, and then the back door opened and Xander stepped inside. 

"Morning all," he said as he closed the door behind him. He was carrying a big, all-too-familiar box in his arms. "I brought donuts."

"Oh thank God!" Dawn exclaimed, as she pushed her oatmeal aside and ran over to Xander. She opened the box in his arms and pulled out two powdery jelly donuts, one for each hand.

"Hold on there tiger. You sure you can handle that? Your sister'll kill me if you make yourself sick."

"Yeah. No problem," Dawn mumbled through a mouthful of donut, as she pulled away and propped herself back up on her stool.

"Jeez," Xander said, staring at her with amazement, "kids these days."

"Oh yes, as if you've never eaten two fistfuls of donuts at one time," Buffy said, finally looking up at him.

"At least I have the decency to use a napkin. Please Dawn, you look like Ronald McDonald after a hard night out partying."

"I do not," she protested, as she grabbed a napkin with one sticky hand and wiped the white powder off her face.

"So Buff," Xander said, sidling up and taking the seat next to her. "Did you happen to see the huge bare footprints right outside your back door?"

"What?" Willow asked, as she looked up absently at Xander.

"Yeah, there's some footprints out back, leading up to the back door. None of you noticed?"

"No," Buffy said slowly. "No one's been out back this morning."

Buffy got up from the table and went to the door. Opening it, she stepped onto the porch and looked around. There were indeed light, muddy footprints on the back porch.

Xander came up behind her and stared over her shoulder. "I guess it was a little misty last night. The ground was pretty wet this morning when I left for work. Looks like you've got yourself a stalker or something."

"Or a burglar," Dawn said, as she joined them. "Bet he stole the fruit."

"Come on you guys," Willow chimed in. "You're just jumping to conclusions." She knelt down on the porch and examined the footprints. "What are these, size ten? Eleven, maybe? Giles could have made these."

She looked up at the group. They all looked at each other with obvious cynicism.

"Okay, okay. So the chances of Giles going around in bare feet are less than good, but--"

"Less than good?" Xander asked. "There's a better chance of Dawn giving birth to a Pterodactyl, or of Anya giving up sex."

"So? Stalker?" Dawn asked, a slight squeak to her voice.

"I don't know," Buffy said, lowering herself to the ground beside Willow. "But whatever it is, we need to be prepared."


	8. Scarred

Chapter Eight: Scarred

Later that night, Spike was pacing cagily along the floor of his old crypt. He was at a loss. He didn't know how to approach Buffy without scaring the hell out of her.

"You know, you could maybe, send her a note? A nice box of chocolates or something? Girls love chocolates."

Spike stopped pacing and glared at Clem.

"Okay," Clem said, putting up his hands defensively. "It was just a suggestion. No need to kill the messenger."

Clem had been living in Spike's old crypt for more than a year now, ever since Spike had left for Africa. He was supposed to just be keeping it warm for him, but Clem had sort of nested. It was now more his place than Spike's.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do? She takes one look at me and--" He threw his hands up in frustration. "I have to see her."

Spike turned and headed toward the door. Clem moved up and stopped him. 

"Okay, so let's say you show up on her doorstep, right? What are you going to say? 'Hey Buffy, guess what, I'm not dead?' Is that going to be before or after she faints?"

"More like before or after she drives a stake through my heart. It's instinct with the girl. Maim first, ask questions later."

Spike descended the step back into the crypt, and began searching around for something to do. 

"So, I was wondering," Clem began, as he watched his old friend warily, "were you thinking of keeping the new look, now that you're human? Or where you planning to revert to type?"

"Come again?" Spike eyed him quizzically.

Clem brought his hand up to hover just above his head. Moving it around he said, "You know? The hair? Were you thinking about keeping it all naturally curly or going with the bottle again? 'Cause you know, I kind of like it this way. Gives you a . . . oh, I don't know . . . sweet, vulnerable look."

Spike growled. He took a step away from Clem and stalked toward the wall, looking at the mirror Clem had installed. Apparently, even if vampire's didn't have reflections, demons did.

Spike took a long moment to examine his face. It had been so long since he had actually gotten a good look at himself. It was frightening, finally facing himself after a hundred years.

God his cheekbones were austere. He sucked in his cheeks, highlighting their gauntness. Then he relaxed his muscles and made a face. 

Spike shook his head and moved closer, examining each and every feature. His eyes were bluer than even he had remembered. His mouth wry and sardonic. Somehow he didn't remember William looking quite so worldly and cynical. But he supposed, time would do that to you. 

He wondered for a moment, what would happen if he tried to vamp out. It was a ridiculous notion, he knew, but he had to try anyway. He concentrated hard, contorting his brow, narrowing his eyes. Nothing happened. Of course, he hadn't expected anything, but his instinct was to at least try. After all, bringing out the lumpies had been second nature to him for over a hundred years.

Slightly disappointed, he ran a frustrated hand over his smooth forehead. It was then that he noticed the curve of his left eyebrow. 

He raised a finger to it and slowly traced the dark arch. It was completely unbroken, the signature scar he had carried for years gone as if it had never existed. 

"Bollocks!" he cursed under his breath. He looked like a bloody poof! No scar. Stupid wavy hair. In spite of the new worldliness he'd gained with the passing years, he still looked like a soddin' poet. That was going to have to change. 

Spike stormed over to the television set where Clem had left his dinner plate from the night before. In one swift move, he picked up the knife and clutched it defensively in his hand. He turned to glower at Clem.

"Now wait," Clem said, his voice trembling slightly. "It's not that bad. I think you look great. No need to kill me." He backed away nervously. "Wouldn't want to start your life off as a human with one murder under your belt on the first day. We're pals right?"

Spike set his mouth in a grim line and crossed back over to the mirror. In a single movement, he brought the knife up to his eyebrow and sliced into his own flesh.

"Oh God!" 

He dropped the knife. It hit the floor somewhere near his feet.

Instantly, Spike brought his hand up to his brow and covered the open wound. He didn't remember anything ever being that painful. As a vampire, he had had an amazing threshold for pain. As a human, he was a pathetic ponce.

Cautiously, Clem came up beside him, offering Spike a bottle of peroxide. "Thought you could use this. You know? Clean up that nasty wound, and then take care of your hair? It's amazing what a little hydrogen peroxide can do really."

Spike swiped the bottle from Clem's fleshy hand and retreated to what was left of the lower level of the crypt. Clem had never bothered to restore the place after Riley had destroyed it. A whole bleedin' year and he hadn't bothered to clean the place up! Spike shrugged. It didn't really matter. At least it gave him a place to hide. Somehow, he felt a lot more comfortable among the rubble, than he did among the world of the living. There had been a time when he had desperately wanted to be a man, for Buffy. Now that he had gotten his wish, he wasn't so sure.


	9. A History of Twentieth Century Vampires ...

Chapter Nine: _A History of Twentieth Century Vampires_ - Part One

The following afternoon, Dawn was sitting in the dinning room with Giles, going over some books.

"So?" she asked, leaning across the table and staring down at the text he was reading. "Find anything?"

"Not in the past five minutes, no." He didn't even bother to look up at her.

"Do you really think the Slayer line is dead? I mean, that Buffy's the last one? Kind of sucks, doesn't it?"

Giles looked up at her. Their faces were just inches apart. "Don't . . . you have . . . your own books, to look through?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I'm finished," she said, pushing herself off the table and back down into her chair. She picked up each of the books he had given her and proceeded to re-pile them on the table. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing," she said, as she moved each one. "They're all a big bust. Nothing on the Slayer line, no prophecies, nothing that's going to do us any good. So any new theories on this Slayer business?"

Giles sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. Removing his glasses, he began to clean them thoughtfully. "Well, there was one thing. If there is a new Slayer out there, I'm rather concerned about how she would be called."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, without a Watcher to find her - train her, apprise her of her duties - she may just be floundering. The Slayer may be out there, but she may be Watcherless. And that's as good as having no Slayer at all."

"Wow, way to go with the egotism Giles."

"It isn't egotism. A Slayer needs her Watcher. It's always been that way."

"So, you think that now that there's no more Council, there are no more--?"

"Watchers. That's right."

"Yeah, but you're a Watcher. Wesley's a Watcher. Surely one of you could . . ."

"We've both had our chance. The bond between Slayer and Watcher is a sacred thing. It can't be forced. Just as a Slayer is called, so is her Watcher. He or she was chosen before time to lead the girl on her path."

"Then how do you explain the Council firing you and playing a little game of 'insert the Wesley here?'"

He put his glasses back on and gave her a censorious look. "The Council was never known for its liberal thinking. It seemed easier to them to force Wesley on Buffy as a Watcher, than to accept what they saw as the rather unorthodox relationship I had with her. I was never a favorite with the Council to begin with. And in recent years, it had degenerated into a pompous, blowhard bureaucracy. They'd rather ignore known mystical truths, than not have their paperwork filled in correctly. All the 'i's dotted and such."

"I see. But how do you really feel?"

"There may be a Slayer out there just waiting to be discovered, but without a Watcher, who knows if she'll ever be found? Ever reach her potential?"

"And how do they make new Watchers?" Dawn asked.

"They don't. You're either born one, or you're not. I come from a long line of Watchers. Usually it's carried through a family line. There are certain families who have always been associated with the Council and the Slayers. If a new Watcher is called, he'll be from among those ranks."

"How will we know?"

"We won't. Not unless there's some miraculous sign from heaven or Buffy gets a vision. This may be the end of the Slayer mythology as we know it." 

Giles leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, lost in thought. "Maybe you should go find Buffy," he suggested, as he began rubbing his temples in frustration. "Perhaps she's having better luck."

"All right." Dawn got up from the table and moved to leave the room. She stopped in the doorway. "Hey Giles?"

"Yes Dawn?" He opened his eyes to look at her.

"Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Just fine. Now run along and see if Buffy needs your help."

Dawn crossed over into the kitchen, where she found Buffy sitting at the island staring, misty eyed, at an open volume of text. "Okay, what's the deal? Some sad epic about demons and bloodshed?" Dawn moved behind her sister and tried to look over her shoulder. 

Buffy snapped the book shut. "It's nothing," she said, as she raised a hand to swipe at her teary eyes. "Just got something in my eye, that's all. I think it's allergies. You know, they said the pollen count was really high today? Don't you watch the Weather Channel?"

Dawn reached out and slowly pulled the book from her sister's grasp. She read the title off the spine label, _A History of Twentieth Century Vampires_.

Buffy grabbed the book from her. "Nothing about Slayers in here. At least, not from this century. I don't even know why I picked it up really. Guess I just thought it might give us some insight into where this whole thing was going."

Dawn sat down beside her sister and stared at the book in her hands. "He's in there, isn't he?"

"Who?"

Dawn leveled her eyes at Buffy in answer.

"Yeah." Buffy sighed. "He's in here." She opened the book and laid it flat on the table. "Pages sixty-seven through seventy-three. William the Bloody." Buffy stared coldly at the page. 

Dawn craned her neck slightly so that she could see too. There wasn't even a picture, just a heading that read, "William the Bloody," with the word "Spike" under it in quotation marks. Beneath that, there was a timeline and several dense paragraphs of text. 

"You know, I don't think I've even done any reading about him since he first appeared in Sunnydale," Buffy said flatly. "Never thought about it really. Thought I knew everything there was to know," Buffy said, her voice breaking. 

Dawn heard her sniffle quietly.

"Maybe you should read it," Dawn suggested, staring back at her sister with genuine concern.

"Nah." Buffy closed the book and pushed it away from her. "Nothing in there I need to know. I already know how the story ends."

"Buffy, I . . . I just want you to know that it's okay. In spite of everything - what happened last year and all? I miss him too."

"It's just, we never really had a chance, did we?" Buffy asked, her eyes misting with fresh tears. "It was over and we never even had a chance to begin. It was over before it started. And now he's gone." 

Buffy broke into a steady stream of tears, and Dawn moved forward, wrapping her in her arms. "It's all right Buffy. It'll be all right. I promise." A stray tear caressed Dawn's cheek as she leaned down to kiss her sister lovingly on the head. "I promise Buffy. I promise."


	10. Sex and Cigarettes

Chapter Ten: Sex and Cigarettes

Spike stood silently in the cemetery beside his crypt, now Clem's. He was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and combat boots. The night before he had bleached his hair - twice - and he was finally feeling more like himself.

He had also spent a lonely hour in front of a mirror, picking at the wound on his eyebrow. He had tried to recreate the old one from memory, which had proved particularly difficult since he had never actually seen it himself. He remembered what it felt like though, that jagged line dissecting his eyebrow, and he thought he had done a fairly decent job re-scarring his flesh. 

Spike pushed his back up against a tree and pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He lit it and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. Instantly he began choking. 

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as he flung the cigarette to the ground and continued to cough. Apparently, his very human lungs were not accustomed to his old chain-smoking ways. He was going to have to do something about that. 

Once he had fully recovered, he pulled out another cigarette and tried again.

Inhaling slowly, he took in just enough to tickle the back of his throat. It was going to take some time, but he swore he'd get used to it. Buffy wouldn't like it of course. Now that he was human, the smoking could easily kill him. But what the hell? You only lived once. Twice if you were lucky.

Enjoying the feel of the cool night air against his skin, Spike leaned his head back and let his eyelids drift shut. His mind was surprisingly calm. The previous night, he had lain awake thinking, wondering how it was that he existed. Somewhere there was an answer, and he knew it was going to take Buffy's help to find it.

Spike exhaled a long stream of smoke as he continued to finish his cigarette. As much as he wanted to know how he had gotten there, there was one thing more that bothered him. Just who the hell was he?

Before getting his soul back, Spike had had a definite sense of self. He was a demon, cursed with William the Bloody Awful Poet's personality. Then, when he had gotten his soul back, he was man and demon. But now? He didn't know what he was.

The obvious answer was human, of course. But Spike didn't feel particularly human. He didn't feel like meek, mild-mannered William. The truth was, he didn't feel any different than he had his last night on earth, the night before the battle. Reason told him that the demon was gone, that he was a human man with a human soul. But his heart told him something different.

He still had all his memories. All the memories William had made, and all the memories Spike had made. It was just that now, there seemed to be no difference between the two. But then again, he had felt that way even before he had been resurrected. Somehow, he was an amalgamation of the two, man and demon coexisting, not just in the same body, but in the same entity. That demon was a part of his soul now. Just like William's personality had always been present in the demon. Actually, it was kind of a relief. Spike didn't want to lose his edge. Human or not, he was still a warrior. He still had to be able to protect the ones he loved.

Suddenly, Spike heard an unexpected noise off in the distance. Clem had gone out for the night. He wasn't due back for hours. Spike snuffed out his cigarette and hid behind a nearby mausoleum. 

The noise drew closer. As it did, the sound became distinct. 

Footsteps. Footsteps padding across the thick, well-manicured grass.

Spike inched closer to the edge of the monument, and looked around the corner, waiting for the being to come into view. It didn't take long for his curiosity to be appeased and for his heart to, once again, stop beating.

It was Buffy.

She was walking past his old crypt, staring blankly at it, as she past by. She was dressed in a long black skirt and a tight, plain black T-shirt, a stake held limply in her right hand. She was beautiful. Spike's first instinct was to step out from the shadows and reveal himself. But he knew better. He had to choose his moment wisely.

Shuffling her feet through the grass, she continued absently on her patrol. She made a sorry excuse for a Slayer. Spike was afraid she was going to get herself killed. 

Taking the initiative, he lit another cigarette, took a quick puff, and then flung it to the ground, landing it right in front of her feet.

Startled, Buffy stopped and looked around. "Who's there?" she asked warily.

Quickly, Spike lit another cigarette and did the same thing. He was afraid his voice would scare her. He wanted to prepare her before she actually set eyes on him.

"Okay, so you think this is funny?" she asked, tightening her grip on the stake. "There is absolutely nothing humorous about litter. Didn't your mother raise you better than that?"

"Actually, she did," he said, his face still hidden.

"Spike?" Buffy's voice shook. Even from a distance, Spike could tell that she was trembling. "Who's there?"

"I didn't mean to scare you pet," he said, as he finally stepped out of the shadows.

Buffy's eyes widened as he took a single step closer to her. Her mouth moved impotently, trying to form words that just wouldn't come. She couldn't speak. She just stood there, staring at him.

"Are you all right, luv? I didn't mean to frighten you. Actually, I've spent the past two days trying to think of ways to break the news without scaring you to death. Or getting a stake through my heart."

Buffy's eyes narrowed on him and she seemed to regain some of her instinct. "I don't know who you are," she said, as she moved steadily toward him, "but you're not Spike. Spike's dead." 

Spike nodded reassuringly, compassion in his eyes. "I know. And I was. But now I'm back."

"No," she said coldly. "No!" Buffy raised her stake and lunged at him.

Quickly, displaying more agility than he might have expected of his human form, he grabbed her wrist and held her off. "Buffy, listen to me."

"No." She easily pulled herself out of his grip. "What are you? The First?"

"Not quite luv. Couldn't have touched you if I was."

Buffy stared down at her freed wrist. She could still feel the warmth of his touch burning her flesh. She looked back at him. "You're not Spike. Spike is dead. I saw him die with my own eyes."

"I remember," he said softly.

"No you don't. I don't know who you are. Or what you are. But this game? It isn't funny." She raised the stake again, tears glistening in her hazel eyes. "And now? I'm going to have to kill you."

She moved to drive the stake through his chest, but Spike grabbed her again, wresting it from her grasp and pulling her solid against his chest. He stared down at her for a split second, and then brought his mouth down to capture hers.

The sensation was mind-blowing. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Kissing as a vampire was one thing, kissing as a flesh and blood human was something else entirely. Suddenly, everything was more real to him. The feel of her body against his, the taste of her mouth, warm and sweet. Spike thought he could die right there in her arms.

At first, she didn't react at all. And then, slowly, she succumbed to the kiss, her hands clutching at his chest, her lips moving desperately across his. Spike slid his hands down around her waist and drew her closer. He wanted this to last forever. But it didn't.

Before they had even begun, it seemed, Buffy pulled away and slapped him solidly across the face. "I don't know who you are," she said, her voice shaking, her body visibly weakened, "but if you ever touch me again? I will kill you." She pulled away from him and took a few steps back.

Spike laughed to himself. "I thought you were going to do that anyway, luv."

"Don't . . . you _ever_ call me that. I am not your love. I don't know what kind of monster you are, but when I find out, I swear to God I will make you pay for coming here like this. For taking Spike's form. For disrespecting the dead."

Buffy turned to leave, intent on storming out of the cemetery. His voice stopped her. 

"It's nice to see that you really do care."

"Excuse me?" She spun back around on her heels and glared at him. "It's nice to see that I really care? Do you have any idea what Spike means to me? What he meant to me? He was everything." She shook her head absently, her eyes disconnecting from his. "I can't believe this."

She started to walk away again. 

He couldn't let her go. He ran after her. "Buffy wait."

"Don't . . . you come near me," she said, spinning around and glaring at him.

"We have to talk."

"No we don't."

"Buffy," he grabbed her arm, in an attempt to stop her.

She pulled her fist back and slugged him in the face.

Spike landed in a heap on the ground. "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as he brought his hand up to cradle his bleeding nose. "You know human Spike doesn't really take these things as well as vamp Spike did."

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

Spike looked up to see Buffy standing above him, her legs apart, her hands on her hips. He swiped the blood away from his nose with the back of his hand.

"Oh right? Like you didn't notice. I'm not quite the bloodsucking fiend anymore. I don't have superhuman strength. And hey, did you notice, when you touched me? I wasn't as cold as soddin' ice."

Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded. Frantically, she searched her brain, trying to make some sense of what was going on. "Spike?" she asked, uncertainly.

"Yes it's me. Spike." He pushed himself up from the ground and began wiping the dirt from his clothes. "Remember? Spike? The man you're supposed to love? The man you're not supposed to want to kill anymore?"

"Well, I don't know about that." She looked up at him cautiously, still slightly wary. "What . . . exactly . . . is going on?"

"Hell if I know. Two days ago I woke up in the school basement, naked, with a heartbeat, a reflection, and somehow miraculously cured of my pesky little sun allergy. I don't know what's going on. All I've wanted was to get back to you."

Buffy stared up into his dark blue eyes, those same eyes that had been haunting her every night in her dreams. She wanted so much to believe that it was true. Suddenly, something he had said struck her. "You woke up naked?" she asked.

"As the day I was born, yeah. I don't know whose idea of a joke that was, but I wouldn't mind giving them a piece of my mind."

Absently, Buffy drifted away from him, trying to piece things together in her own mind. "You woke up naked? In the school basement?"  


"Yeah?" he said, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.

"It's like the vision."

"What vision?" 

Buffy looked up at him, intently this time. "The vision I had the night I broke out of my catatonic state."

"That was two bleedin' years ago."

"No. Not the time with Glory. Now. Last week. After the battle."

"Oh God, Buffy." He took a step closer to her, trying to offer her comfort. 

Buffy pulled away and began pacing, still wracking her brain. "I saw you, in this vision. I saw you, naked in the school basement. That must have been it. That's why it was so dark. Spike," she stared up at him, "you're really here?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last fifteen minutes."

Her eyes searched his face desperately, looking for proof, wanting to believe that he was real. She knew it wasn't supposed to be possible, knew it could all just be a dream. But in that moment, she didn't care. Spike was alive. He was alive and real, and standing just a few feet in front of her.

Before another thought could even pass through her head, she closed the distance between them. Putting her trembling hands on either side of his face, she pulled him to her and kissed him.

Buffy closed her eyes, and lost herself in the warmth of his mouth. The sensation was so foreign. Spike's skin was warm - hot even. She moved her hands down his chest, groping and feeling every inch of him, trying to convince herself that he was real.

She could feel the beating of his heart, pounding against her own chest. Oh God! There was nothing like it. He was alive! Really and truly alive! Buffy nearly sobbed with joy.

Feverishly, she devoured his mouth, not ever wanting to let him go. She knew she would need to breathe soon, but she didn't care. Taking the initiative, she pushed him up against the side of the crypt and fumbled desperately to find the zipper on his jeans.

"Uh, Buffy luv?" Spike pushed her away from him a fraction of an inch. "Don't you think we could find a better place for this?"

She looked up at him, slightly disappointed. "Don't you want me?" she asked, pouting slightly.

"Oh God, yes!" he declared. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "Can't you feel it?"

She could.

Buffy let her eyelids drift half closed, and let her mouth hover near his. She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin, and the sensation was driving her mad.

"Buffy." He kissed her chastely on the lips, and pulled back as far as he could. "Maybe we should go inside?" he said, cocking his head to the side, indicating his old crypt.

"What? Oh. Okay." Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. Eyeing him suspiciously, she said, "Are you sure you're really Spike? I mean, outdoor sports never seemed to bother you before."

"Yeah, well, as thrilling as being thrown up against a wall and mounted is," he said, moving closer to her, and gently caressing her cheek, "I think I'd like to spend tonight a little differently."

Buffy gazed up into his crystal blue eyes and found that she was slowly losing herself. If she couldn't be with him soon, she would die.

Gently wrapping her hand around his, she led him toward the crypt. Once inside, she closed the door behind them, and narrowed her gaze at Spike. Laying her hands firmly on his chest, she backed him up until he bumped into the edge of the sarcophagus. 

"I know what you said. I know what you want," she said, staring up at him with an undeniable heat in her eyes, "but I can't wait. I can't take this slow. Forgive me?"

"Anything," he whispered, as she pushed him down onto his back and got on top of him.

"Slow later," she said, as she undid the button on his jeans, and then the zipper. "I promise."

Buffy readjusted her own clothing and lowered herself down onto Spike, impaling herself on his hard shaft. Closing her eyes, she began to ride him slowly, reveling in the sensation of his warm flesh pulsing inside of her. She had thought she was never going to see him again, never be able to hold him or touch him or see his face. It was a miracle that he was here with her now. And Buffy desperately wanted to hold onto that miracle with all her might.

She heard Spike moan beneath her, and she opened her eyes to stare down at his face. He was staring up at her, watching her intently. 

Desperately needing to feel more of him, she lowered herself down to lay flush against his chest. Closing her eyes, she flicked out her tongue and slowly ran it across his bottom lip, glorying in the salty taste of his flesh. She pushed herself up closer to capture his mouth with her own, the abrupt movement driving him deeper inside of her. 

Spike groaned. Wrapping one arm tightly about her waist, he gripped the back of her head with his free hand and drew her closer. He drove his tongue inside her mouth, penetrating her a second time. Buffy felt like she was going to explode.

Spike was beginning to tremble beneath her, and Buffy knew he was close. 

In the heat of the moment, he moved to flip her over onto her back, but the sarcophagus was too narrow, and instead of staying on the soft blanket beneath them, they landed with a loud "thud" on the cold floor below.

Spike pulled away from Buffy for a brief moment. He searched her face to see if she was all right. The fall didn't even phase her. Before he could even blink, she pulled him down to her, and resumed their kissing.

Spike began thrusting inside her frantically, Buffy bucking her hips wildly, meeting each fevered thrust. She wanted to feel all of him. Every last inch of him inside of her. It was all she ever wanted. To be complete. To be complete with Spike.

With a deep, feral growl, he pushed inside her one last time. Instantly she felt his body spasm, her own cresting over the edge in response. She screamed out his name, over and over again, as she clutched him to her. She couldn't stop saying it. She had thought she would never see him again. And now he was here and he was hers, and she wanted the entire world to know it.


	11. The Invitation

Chapter Eleven: The Invitation

Several hours later, Spike woke up to find Buffy sleeping soundly beside him. He pulled out of the comforting warmth of her embrace and pushed himself up on one arm, so he could reach up and grab the blanket and pillows off the sarcophagus. Once he had them, he arranged them around Buffy and snuggled in next to her. 

Spike couldn't believe that this was happening, that he was here with Buffy and everything was okay. She had told him that she loved him the night before the Apocalypse, but now there was no Apocalypse coming - at least none that they knew of anyway - and she was still here beside him. She still wanted him, even if it wasn't her last night on earth. She wanted him forever. 

Spike hardened his jaw and steeled himself against the nancy-boy tears that were threatening to come. There was no reason to cry now. Buffy was here, beside him. Everything was all right. 

A few minutes later she began to stir. Spike turned onto his back and Buffy cuddled herself up against his side. 

"Mmm. Spike," she whispered, half-asleep and half-awake.

Spike smiled and ran a loving hand up and down her bare arm.

"Spike." 

He felt her eyelashes flutter against his chest and a moment later she was pushing herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

"Beneath you luv," he said. "Always beneath you."

"Isn't that the way you like it?" she asked, moving up and placing a sensual kiss against his lips.

"Sometimes. I can't really complain with you pet. The things you do." He captured a lock of her long blond hair and let it slip through his fingers slowly, memorizing the feel. "You make me crazy, you know that don't you?"

She smiled at him. "And you wouldn't have it any other way."

Lowering herself back down to the floor, she rested her head against his bare chest and placed her hand over his heart. Her eyes drifted shut as she silently marveled at the life beating beneath his skin. She could feel the steady pulse thumping against her ear, feel it thrumming against her palm. A small smile tugged at her lips as she let the muffled rhythm lull her senses once again.

Absently, she began tracing a circle around his heart with the tip of her finger, concentrating intently on the sound within his chest. 

Spike brought his hand up and captured hers, stopping it's progress. "Buffy, luv?"

"Hmm?"

"You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yes," she mumbled contentedly.

"This . . . my being human . . . are you all right with it?"

"What?" Buffy opened her eyes and pushed herself up to look at him.

"I'm not Superman anymore. I'm not even bloody Batman. I have no superpowers. I can barely keep up with you."

"I thought you were doing just fine."

"Yeah, tonight, when anything would be good enough." He dropped her hand and pushed her away slightly, propping himself up on his elbows so he could face her. "But Buffy, tonight is just one night. Tomorrow, I go back to being a pumpkin and you'll still be the Slayer."

Buffy wrapped the blanket around her chest and sat up. "Where is this coming from?" 

"I just want you to be prepared, that's all. You know, I always said you needed a little monster in your man." A bitter laugh escaped his throat. "Remember tellin' Captain Cardboard that. Now look at me. No better than him. I'm not a monster anymore. You need to know that you're stuck with a bloody poet."

Buffy reached out her hand and put it against his cheek, pulling his eyes toward hers. "Listen to me Spike. I love you. You. Spike. I don't care if you're not a vampire anymore. It doesn't matter to me. And you're no Riley. Sure, we'll have problems. But we'd have problems anyway." She let her hand drop and stared at him hard. "And I seriously doubt I've seen the last of the demon in you. I mean come on? Who knows how to piss me off better than you? It's like a gift!" She moved closer to him, leaning her chest against his. "I'll always find the evil in you, Spike," she whispered softly. "I promise."

She closed her eyes and kissed him again. Spike pulled her closer and slid back down on the floor, taking Buffy with him. Turning her over on her back, he got ready to make love to her all over again.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"Oh, I love the night life. I got to boogie on the disco 'round, oh yea!" Clem waddled into the crypt singing at the top of his lungs. He padded over to the fridge and began rummaging through its contents.

"Bloody, bloody hell," Spike cursed, as he pushed himself off of Buffy and rested back on his arms. He stared up at Clem with murder in his eyes, waiting for the floppy giant to notice them. "Ahem," Spike cleared his throat.

"Spike?" Clem asked from the other side of the sarcophagus. 

Obviously, though they could see him, Clem couldn't see them. 

"Hey buddy." Clem moved around to see what was on the other side of the big stone box. "What're you doing down there on the . . .? Oh, sorry, my bad," he said. He raised a wobbly arm to shield his eyes. "Hey Buff, how you doing?" he asked without looking at her. "Life been treating you well?"

"Just fine Clem," she replied, her tone slightly amused.

"But I'm not," Spike bit back. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were out for the night."

"Well I was. You know, was gonna stay out all night? Get down and boogie?" He shook his fleshly figure in illustration. "But there was this really nasty chaos demon, getting slime all over my hot wings - so disgusting. I figured I'd just come back here, eat in my crypt in peace. But I can see . . . well," he peeked around the barrier of his arm for a brief second, and them quickly shielded his eyes again, "that I'm not going to get much peace tonight. I'll just be going then." He turned to leave the crypt.

"No wait," Buffy said, stopping him at the door. She reached down under the blanket and felt around for her clothes. "We'll be out of here in a second. No problem."

"Like hell we will!" Spike moved to get up, but Buffy reached out her hand and stopped him.

"I'm sure we'll be a lot more comfortable at my house," she said reasonably. "Now I'm sure Clem will give us a minute to get our things together and get out of his way. Right Clem?" she called across the room, never taking her eyes from Spike's.

"Oh yeah. Yeah Buffy. Whatever you need. Take a minute. Take two minutes if you like," he stammered, as he felt his way to the door, his eyes still covered. "I'll just be outside."

They heard the door close, and Buffy removed her hand from Spike. She found her bra and panties beneath the cover and started getting dressed.

"It wouldn't have killed him to find another place for the night."

"No. But it wouldn't have been right. I thought you wanted things to be different," she said, turning her head and staring at him quizzically. "Does it get any more 'different' than my bed?" She pulled on her jeans and zipped them up.

Spike just stared at her. "You're taking me home?"

"Duh," she swung her head heavenward and rolled her eyes. "God you vampires - ex-vampires," she corrected, "can be so dense. How did you ever survive a hundred years of living - non-living - being so completely and totally lacking in common sense?"

"I have plenty of common sense," he said resentfully, as he jammed his left leg, and then his right, into his jeans. 

Buffy stood up and finished zipping up her boots. "Oh right. You know what sounds like a real good idea? Chaining a girl to a wall and telling her you love her. Now that will really win a girl over! Where on earth did you ever learn your people skills? _The Manson Family Guide on How to Make Friends and Influence People_?" 

Spike stood up in front of her and pulled his black T-shirt over his head. "Oh, like you're the little social butterfly? How many vampires have you had for boyfriends? Let's count." He brought up his left hand and numbered them with his fingers. "First there was soul-boy. Boy that was a stroke of genius! Totally normal in every sense of the word. Not only a vampire, but a bloody poofter! Poor, poor Buffy." He shook his head at her sympathetically.

Buffy crossed her arms over her now clothed chest and glared at him. "And what about vampire number two? It's not my fault he was a total sadomasochistic psycho. What the hell did I know? I had just come back from the dead."

"Well now we're even." 

They stood there in an awkward silence for a long moment, neither one knowing exactly what to say. 

Finally, Buffy spoke. "Do you have any other stuff here?" she asked. "You should get it before we leave."

Spike shook his head, in serious denial. "You can't be serious about this. Taking me home to little sis? She hated me before, she's not gonna--"

"She doesn't hate you," Buffy interrupted him. "She was just angry. She misses you so much Spike. She'll be so happy to see you she won't even remember that she was angry."

"Right bloody chance of that happening. She's too much like her damned sister. Bitty Buffy till the end." 

"Are you coming?" She cocked an eyebrow at him in question. 

Spike sighed and gave her an exasperated look. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever." He walked past her and made for the door. "I'll get my stuff tomorrow. Which . . . reminds me." He turned back on his heels and stared down at Buffy, who had been following just a few steps behind him. "I want my soddin' duster back. I said the Nibblet could borrow it. Not give it to her sister to use as a second-string Mr. Gordo."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"

"I'm psychic," he said, turning back toward the door. "I just want it back."

"Wait a minute." Buffy reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him around to look at her. "How did you know about the duster?"

"It doesn't take a bleedin' genius to--"

"How?"

A ragged sigh escaped his lips and his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Buffy let go of his arm and Spike pulled back a little, dropping his eyes. "I had to see you. I had to know that you were okay. The morning I woke up, I went to your house. Crept into your room and watched you sleeping. Not as easy as it was when I was a vamp. Couldn't hear you breathing through the walls. Couldn't sense your Slayer self with instinct." He looked up at her, his blue eyes deep with emotion. "All I could do was seek you out and look at you with my own eyes. I had to know that you were safe. That you were alive."

"Spike." She moved forward and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. When she pulled away, she whispered softly, "Come on. It's time to go home."


	12. Revelations

Chapter Twelve: Revelations

"Different" didn't go very well after all. After one round of pure, romantic lovemaking, they were back to practicing their marathon sex matches of days gone by. 

"Well, I never really liked that lamp anyway. I broke the matching one last week," Buffy said as she laid her head back against Spike's chest, her breath coming in short, heavy bursts.

"I know you said Red was out for the night at her mum's, but you gonna tell me again how lil' bit couldn't hear that?"

Buffy turned her head slightly, trying to look up at him. "Dawn sleeps like the dead. Really. Wouldn't know a broken lamp from--"

"Buffy are you okay?" The doorknob jiggled a little as Dawn twisted it from the other side. "Hey, it's locked. Is everything okay in there?"

Spike leaned down close to her ear. "You were saying?" he whispered.

"Everything's fine Dawn. Hold on." Buffy pushed herself out of bed and grabbed the robe she had left on a chair the previous night.

Spike turned on his side, watching her, the thin bedsheet draped provocatively over his hips. 

Buffy's mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Coming Dawn," she said, as she tied the sash firmly about her waist.

"That's the plan luv," he said, with a sly smile.

Buffy inhaled a steadying breath. Dawn was at the door. There would be no thoughts about naked Spike. No thoughts about wicked, naked Spike. No, no, no, she told herself. She had to be good. At least for two minutes.

Buffy unlocked the door and opened it just enough so that she could squeeze through, using her body to shield Dawn's view of the bedroom. Once she was out in the hall, Buffy closed the door firmly behind her and looked at her sister. "Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Um? No? I came here to ask you the same thing. I heard some loud noises and a huge crash. Buffy, what's going on in there?" Dawn tried to push past her sister and reach the doorknob, but Buffy stopped her. 

"Nothing! Just . . . having another nightmare. That's all. Nothing I can't handle."

"Right," Dawn countered cynically, obviously not buying it. "Do you mind if I see what this little nightmare looks like?"

"Yes. Yes I do," Buffy said, trying to sound appalled and protective at the same time. "I just, kind of, made a mess of my room, that's all. You know, thought I was battling demons in my sleep. Wouldn't be the first time."

"So you're totally okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." Buffy pretended to yawn. "But you know, battling imaginary demons can be so, so tiring. I think I'll go back to sleep now."

Her hand already on the knob, Buffy waited for Dawn to leave. She didn't.

"You have a guy in there don't you?"

"What ?" Buffy squeaked. "No. No guy. There is no guy. Please Dawn. Grieving left-behind here? Spike's been cold, what? Two weeks? Do you really think--?"

"Thirteen days," Dawn said coldly. "Spike's been gone thirteen days. God Buffy, what is wrong with you?" Dawn asked, obviously not caring to hide her disgust. "I thought you were supposed to love him."

Buffy instantly sobered. "I do." She let go of the door handle and reached out for her sister. "Dawn, it's not what you think."

"Oh really? So you don't have a guy in there you've been banging all night? Please Buffy, I'm not a child. I know what you were doing. And it makes me sick." Dawn pulled away and stormed back toward her room. When she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned around abruptly. "Do you think Spike would have forgotten you so fast? Do you think he'd be out jumping the first warm body that came his way?"

"It's not like that."

"I wish Spike were here to see this," she said, her voice trembling with a vicious undercurrent. "He thought the world of you. What would he think of his precious Buffy now?"

"That she's carrying the drama just a little too far," Spike said, as he finished opening the door to the bedroom and stepped out into the hallway. He had put his dark jeans back on, but he was still shirtless.

"Spike?" The color instantly drained from Dawn's face and she looked about two seconds away from fainting.

"Nibblet," he mumbled softly, the word tripping deliciously off his tongue.

"How? What? How?" Dawn looked from Spike to Buffy, and then back to Spike again. "You're dead."

"Was. Yeah."

"How?" She turned and stared at Buffy. 

"We don't know how."

"The First." Dawn's eyes widened as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spike. "It's The First. It's taken Spike's form."

"No, not really," Buffy said. She lifted a finger and poked him in the chest. "See? Corporeal form. Can't really bang an apparition, can you? Uh, never mind," she said, blushing slightly. "Forget I said that."

"You're really here? Oh my gosh, Spike!" Dawn ran to him and wrapped her arms about him.

Spike pulled her close and hugged her tightly. "Yeah it's me lil' bit. It seems I'm here for good."

Dawn pulled back and stared at him for a long moment, her mind sorting though a wellspring of information. Finally, she seemed to snap out of her daze. She took a step back, pulled back her fist, and punched him. "You jerk!"

Far from just being knocked to the floor, the punch sent Spike flying down the hall. He hit the wall above the stairs, and came to land in a heap on the floor.

"Spike!" Buffy rushed over to him, kneeling on the floor beside him, trying to offer him comfort. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said, as he looked up at Dawn with murder in his eyes. He touched his nose tentatively, feeling for broken cartilage. "But if you didn't break my nose earlier tonight, I think little sis just did. What? You've been eating your Wheeties lil' bit?" he asked, watching her curiously.

Dawn looked down at her hand, which was still clutched in a tight first. "I . . . I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to send you flying across the room. One minute I'm Dawn, weak-as-a-kitten girl, the next I'm--"

"The Slayer?" Buffy asked.

"What?" Dawn looked at her sister, her eyes filled with disbelief. 

"The Slayer," Buffy said, pushing herself up from the floor and offering Spike her hand. 

He struggled to push himself off the floor, needing both Buffy and the wall behind him for support. Finally, he stood beside her.

"No," Dawn said slowly. "There is no Slayer. The line is dead."

"Apparently not," said Buffy.

"Wait," Spike interjected. "The line is dead? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because it wasn't important. There were other things that were more . . . pressing, that's all."

"You think I'm the Slayer?" Dawn interrupted. "Are you completely and totally insane? That is so not happening."

"It is."

"No, it's not!" Dawn yelled. "Buffy, you remember that locating spell we told you about? The one to find the Potential Slayer in Sunnydale? It didn't choose me. It chose Amanda. Went through me to get to her."

"Went through you," Buffy said succinctly.

"To . . . get . . . to . . . her," Dawn said slowly, as if Buffy were dimwitted and couldn't understand her.

"Dawn, it didn't go around you, or under you, or above you. It went through you. Who's to say it didn't know something? Something we didn't? Dawn," Buffy walked the few feet to where her sister was standing and put her hands on both of her arms, steadying her. "It's possible Dawn. In fact, it's even more than possible. It _is_. You're the Slayer. It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll take care of you. It'll all be fine."

"It won't be fine," Dawn said, her tone turning harsh. "Because it means I'm gonna die. There's two Slayers now. Remember? That never means anything good. The power is out of balance again, which, of course, means The First could come back, and kill us all. A whole new Apocalypse just waiting to commence."

"It doesn't work that way," Buffy reassured her. "Dawn, I coexisted for years with Faith, and nothing, _nothing_, ever went wrong like that. It's because they brought me back from the dead. Manipulated forces that were supposed to be beyond our control, that the power was out of balance. It wasn't that there were two Slayers. It was that one of us . . . came back wrong."

"You didn't." Spike's voice broke through the silence.

Buffy paused for a moment, feeling his words hanging heavily in her chest. "Dawn, there's nothing to be afraid of. Everything has been made right. The First got what it wanted. It screwed with us, and got to taste the blood of a Slayer. That's all it wanted. It won't bother us again."

Dawn broke her eyes from Buffy's gaze and stared down the hall at Spike. "Speaking of being back from the dead. Exactly how is it that Spike is standing there, watching us? He got dusted. I saw it with my own eyes."

"We don't know."

Dawn turned accusatory eyes on Buffy. "Did you do a spell?"

"What? No. I didn't do anything." Buffy let go of Dawn. "We don't know what happened. Two days ago Spike woke up in the school basement, naked and apparently human."

"Human?!" Dawn asked, her mouth gaping open like a suffocating guppy. 

"Go figure." Spike shrugged. "Wouldn't really have been my first choice, but hey? Not really complaining. The change doesn't seem to bother Buffy that much."

"I'll bet," Dawn said. She narrowed her eyes and took a few tentative steps toward him. "You're really human?"

"Yeah pet. Really."

She stopped a foot in front of him. "Prove it."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Bleedin' hell, you bloody Summers women," he cursed. "All right." He pushed past her and disappeared into Buffy's room. A moment later, he returned holding a small hand mirror. "See." He held it up at an odd angle, so that he and Dawn could both see themselves in it together, at the same time. 

"Doesn't prove anything," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a distinctly "Buffy" look.

"Fine." He put the mirror down on a nearby table and grabbed Dawn's hand.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, trying to pull away.

"Just humor me, okay?" 

He brought her hand up to his chest and pushed her palm down flat, right over his heart. Standing perfectly still, he waited for Dawn to feel the faint thump of his heartbeat.

For a moment she didn't react. Then her eyes widened, and she stared up at Spike in shock. Her mouth moved feebly, but no words came out.

"Proof enough?" he asked, releasing his grip on her hand.

Dawn just continued to stand there, her hand against his chest. She couldn't believe it. Spike was human? It was too much for her to comprehend.

Finally, something in her brain clicked, and she was actually able to move. She withdrew her hand from Spike's very naked flesh, and took a step back toward Buffy. 

"I think there's been enough excitement for one night," Buffy said. "Maybe we should all try and get some sleep."

Dawn turned to look at her sister, a glazed look clouding her eyes. "I don't know if I can. How am I supposed to take all this in?'

Buffy came up and hugged her sister close. "It'll be all right." Buffy pulled back slightly and looked at her kid sister. Lovingly, she swept a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "I'll stay with you if you need me to. Whatever you need Dawn."

"Uh, don't you think Spike's gonna mind?" she asked, turning slightly to look at him.

Buffy looked across to Spike.

"It's fine, luv," he said. "Stay with her. I could use the sleep anyway." He brought his hand up to support his back where he had hit the wall. "I think I've had enough of the Summers girls for one night. I'm not a superhero anymore. I could use some recovery time." He walked back to Buffy's bedroom. "Night Nibblet."

"Night Spike."

"Buffy," he said.

She smiled. "Goodnight Spike. See you in the morning."


	13. Haunted

Chapter Thirteen: Haunted

"Damn it!" Angel thew off the covers and got out of bed. He glanced down beside him to make sure that he hadn't woken Cordelia, before pulling on his pants and stepping out onto the balcony. 

He'd been dreaming about Buffy again. About Buffy and Spike. 

Angel still wasn't sure that he had done the right thing. Yes, Buffy had woken from her coma, but had it been worth it? Couldn't he have found another way if he had just waited? If he hadn't been so damned impatient?!

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the same scene playing out before him, over and over again - Spike and Buffy in the bathroom - Spike trying to rape Buffy. 

The memory haunted him, twisted in his gut and cut through him like a jagged sword. _He_ had allowed that monster to be brought back. _He_ had begged for Spike's life, even knowing what he was. Spike would come back from the dead, and Buffy would welcome him into her heart with open arms. Who was going to save her? Who was going to protect her from giving herself to such a monster?

There was only one thing Angel could do. He had to make things right. He had to protect Buffy. He had to make Spike pay. 

Angel ran an agitated hand through his hair as he gazed out over the horizon. He was starting to worry in earnest now. He didn't quite understand what was going on - why Buffy was trying so hard to pretend that she was fine, or why there hadn't been any word of Spike yet. Whatever it was, wasn't good. Buffy had promised to call if anything unusual had happened. Why the hell hadn't she called?

Angel felt a presence move up behind. He knew who it was. He didn't even have to turn around.

"You're doing it again," Cordelia said, from just inside the doorway.

"What's that?"

"Worrying about her." She moved closer, coming to stand directly behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders comfortingly. "She'll be all right. She's a big girl now Angel."

He turned around, pulling out of her hold. "She's confused and she's scared."

"And grieving."

Angel scowled and turned away from her. "She shouldn't grieve that bastard, not after what he's done." 

"Angel." She tried to touch him again.

He pulled away. "Don't."

"You can't protect her forever you know. Someday you're going to have to realize that you're not her knight in broody, dark armor anymore. You can't protect her. Let it go Angel. If she wants to love Spike, let her love Spike. Get over it."

"Not until he's dead," he said darkly.

"Oh great, here we go again. Why even bring him back if you were just going to kill him yourself?"

"Because I will forever treasure the feel of _my_ hands breaking his neck."

"Fine," she said exasperated, "when Buffy calls and tells you that Spike's alive you can ride the first vengeance train back to Sunnydale and break his neck, or sever his head, or offer him a stake through the heart. Whatever you like. But until then, let it go. Or Buffy won't be the only girl who loses her vampire lover," she said, as she turned and walked back into the bedroom.

Angel turned back toward the cityscape below and gripped the railing tightly. Another day. Two at the most. Three tops! And then he was going to Sunnydale, with or without the call. He needed to see Buffy. Needed to talk some sense into her. And he needed to see Spike. See him, and kill him. 


	14. Xander to the Rescue

Chapter Fourteen: Xander to the Rescue

Late the next morning, Spike was standing in the kitchen trying to cook some breakfast. It had been a long time since he had done anything but heat a cup of pig's blood in the microwave. Hell, who was he kidding? He had never cooked a day in his life. In William's day, that was women's work, and vamp Spike had never had much use for anything he couldn't kill or order already prepared.

As Spike struggled feebly with the skillet and pancake batter, the back door opened and Xander stepped inside. 

He took one look at Spike and immediately yelled, "The First!" Unable to make any other movement, he raised a trembling finger and pointed it at Spike. "Buffy!" he hollered. "Buffy!"

"Yeah, what is it Xander?" she asked wearily as she padded her way into the kitchen in her slippered feet. She had just woken up, and somehow, coming downstairs to a screaming Xander was not her idea of a fun way to start the morning.

"The First. He's taken Spike's form. He's right here, in the kitchen . . . cooking breakfast."

Spike turned and gave him an insufferable look. "Not bloody likely." Turning to Buffy he asked, "Will you please get that crying whelp out of the kitchen so I can get some peace? Already burnt myself once because of his yammering."

"But . . . Spike . . ." Xander stammered, looking back and forth between the former vampire and Buffy.

"Is back from the dead," Buffy finished for him. "Yeah, I know. He's human too. Just get over it."

"What?"

"Oh," she paused for a second as if remembering something, "and news flash number two, Dawn's the new Slayer."

"What?" Xander looked like a deer in headlights. Worse, he looked like a deer who'd already been run over by the truck bearing the headlights.

Buffy put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto a stool. She then went to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Just then, Dawn came shuffling into the room. "Someone please tell me last night was just a dream. Please!" she pleaded.

"Nope. No dream," Buffy said as she stood near Spike, coffee mug in hand, observing his pitiable attempt at making pancakes.

"I didn't know Spike could cook," Dawn said.

"Apparently, I can't," he countered, as he tried to flip one of the flapjacks over with a spatula. "Son-of-a--" He dropped the utensil and brought one of his fingers up to his mouth and began sucking on it. "Don't remember getting burned being that painful. Even as a vampire, flammable was just flammable. There was no searing, no long-term scarring."

"Here, let me do that," Buffy offered, moving between him and the stove, effectively taking over.

"Great. Something else I can't do. I need a cigarette," he grumbled, turning toward the door and grabbing his duster off the back of a chair.

"You're smoking?" Dawn asked, appalled.

"I'm still evil, okay?"

"Right. Whatever you say. Shouldn't you really be giving that up though? It could kill you."

"We could only hope," he growled, as he stormed out, closing the door behind him.

"But . . . but, it's daylight," Xander spluttered. "Doesn't he need a blanket or something?"

Buffy and Dawn both looked at Xander and then went back to what they were doing. Apparently his brain was working rather slowly today. He seemed to be on overload.

"What's up with Spike?" Dawn finally asked.

"I think he's feeling a little out of place, not being a vamp anymore. He doesn't know how he fits in."

"I don't know why. It's not like he's ever going to be a regular guy. I mean, he's no Riley. Riley, you take him off the Commando juice and 'poof,' goodbye Captain America. But Spike's not like that. He'll always be . . . unique?"

"Why don't you tell him that?

"Because I'm not sure I want to talk to him. I'm not sure I want to talk to anybody." Dawn moved over to one of the stools and sat down, pulling her feet up underneath her. She turned to watch her sister. 

"So wait a second," Dawn said, as a thought struck her. "That was Spike the other morning wasn't it?"

"What?"

"Stealing our food? Creeping in our house?"

"Oh yeah. I think he must have been really, really hungry. Being dead can do that to you."

"What was he doing in the house? I mean, he must have been alive for like two days. Why did he just show himself now?"

"He didn't want to frighten us. And I think, also, he needed a little time himself. To adjust."

"Tell me about it," Dawn mumbled. "Don't think I'll ever adjust. I don't want to be the Slayer."

"I know."

"There must be something we can do about it."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Hey? Maybe Xander has some ideas. Xander?" She turned to look at him.

He was still babbling incoherently to himself.

"Okay. Maybe Xander doesn't have any ideas. Maybe he won't for the remainder of this century." She looked to Buffy again. "I don't want this Buffy. Really. I don't. We've got to find some way out it. Promise me?"

"Dawn I can't," Buffy said, sympathetically. "You know I can't. That's not the way these things work. Once you're chosen, you're chosen. There's no getting out of it."

"Why do we always get chosen for crappy things like Slayerhood and dying horrible, mystically engineered deaths? Why can't we ever get chosen for anything good, like the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes or something?"

Buffy gave Dawn a sly look. "You're telling me Ed McMahon _isn't_ mystically engineered?"

"Why can't it ever be easy? Why can't things ever be normal?"

"Xander's normal," Buffy breezed, "and look at him. Are you really sure you want normal?"

Dawn took another look at Xander. He was still blathering. "Xander is _so_ not normal. Demon magnet, remember?"

"Well, now you'll be a vamp magnet. Lucky you. You can have your pick of undead boyfriends."

Dawn glared at her sister. Pushing herself off the stool, she made her way out of the kitchen. She didn't care what Buffy said. She was going to find a way out of being the Slayer. No one could force her to perform her duties. After all, she didn't even have a Watcher.


	15. Research

Chapter Fifteen: Research

"Now again," Giles said, as he held the board up in front of Dawn and got ready for her to strike.

Dawn pulled back her fist and punched the board solidly, snapping it in two with ease.

"Remarkable," Giles mumbled, putting the two halves of wood aside.

"Whatever," Dawn sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, can we just get on with this? How many evil, bloodsucking blocks of wood am I going to have to kill today? How about we just go back to you throwing knives at my head? At least that I can use as a decent party trick."

"Oh, all right," he conceded. "We can take a break."

Giles and Dawn ascended the basement steps and joined the others in the living room. The whole gang was there. Buffy, Spike, Willow, Xander and Anya. They were spread about the room talking in low whispers.

"So how goes it?" Xander asked, when he saw Dawn's gloomy face.

"Oh, just peachy keen," she said, smiling painfully. "Giles thinks I've got the strength of a Slayer. Go fig."

"Yes all right, that's enough," he said, motioning her toward the couch.

Dawn sat down in a huff, wedging herself between Anya and Buffy.

"So now what?" Buffy asked, leaning forward and folding her hands between her knees.

Giles removed his glasses and cleaned them briskly. "Well, now, we just have to decide what this all means." He put his glasses back on. "Dawn, apparently, _is_ the new Slayer. Spike," he nodded his head in Spike's direction, "Spike's back from the dead. I don't know what we do next. Seems to me like a typical day in good old Sunnydale. I just don't know."

"Well, do we know why Spike's no longer a big pile of dust?" Anya asked, glancing in his direction.

"Not . . . really," Buffy answered. "Thought we'd cross that bridge when we came to it."

"Well, there's no time for speculation here," Giles interrupted. "What we need are facts. Willow, get on the net. Find anything you can about resurrection spells, turning vampires mortal. Anything at all."

"I'll get on it," she said soberly. Willlow already knew everything there was to know about resurrection spells, having succeeded in casting a whopper of a one herself once. It was that very resurrection spell that had unleashed The First in the first place. Willow didn't like her assignment, but she couldn't argue with Giles.

"Anya."

"Yes?" she asked, her voice sickeningly perky.

"I want you to use your demon connections to find any information you can. See if anyone knows how to go about turning a vampire human. Since we know it is, in fact, possible, someone somewhere must know something."

"I don't know how much luck I'll have with the demon community. Anyanka Jenkins is not really their favorite little ex-vengeance demon anymore. But I'll try."

"Good. Xander." Giles turned to look at him. "I want you to hit the books. There's a stack of volumes in my room back at your apartment. Again, cover the Spike angle. Buffy, Dawn and I will stay here and work the Slayer angle."

"What about Spike?" Dawn interjected. "Doesn't he get stuck with some lame researching job or something?"

"Oh, right. Uh, Spike, you can . . . you can . . ."

"Stay out of the way?" he provided.

"Well, yes, I suppose that works too."

Spike got up and grabbed his duster off the back of the couch. He swung it around his shoulders and shrugged into it. "I'm going out." He headed for the door.

Buffy got up and followed him out into the entryway. "Are you sure?"

He stopped and turned to look at her. "I'm not much good to anyone here. Go back inside, make with the saving the world. I'll see you later." He offered her a rye smile and turned to leave.

Buffy reached out and pulled him to her, placing a sweet, warm kiss against his lips. "Don't be too late," she whispered. "We never got to finish what we started last night."

"Actually, as I recall, we did. Several times in fact."

Buffy smiled at him. "Oh really? I guess you'll just have to refresh my memory when you get back."

Spike smiled in spite of himself. "I'll be back later. I promise." He kissed her gently and then turned and walked out the door.

A moment later, Buffy reentered the living room to find Dawn all alone of the couch, sulking.

"Hey," Buffy said, as she dropped down next to her sister. "How's it going?"

"How does it look like it's going?" Dawn said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Okay. Been taking lessons on being a spoiled brat?"

Dawn glowered at her. "Giles wants us to do research. No vamp slaying. No demon slaughter. Just research. You'd think if I was going to get stuck being the Slayer, the least he could do would be to take me out on patrol, show me the ropes."

"You already know the ropes. You've already double knotted them and turned them into a noose. You know the ropes Dawn. Intimately."

"Well, it still doesn't seem fair."

"Nothing ever does."

Just then, Giles came in from the dining room and sat down in the chair across from the couch. "I think I've discovered what it was I was doing wrong," he said, not bothering to look up from the open book he was cradling between his hands. "I've been researching this from the Slayer angle, not the Watcher angle. And therein lies the problem."

Buffy and Dawn both stared at him curiously. Giles was very much being Giles.

He flipped a few pages in his text and then began to scan the page. "Aha! You see. I knew it." He looked up at the two slightly bewildered girls. "I was looking in the wrong book all along. Among other topics, this one chronicles the history of Watching, and also makes some interesting predictions about it."

"What's it say?" Dawn asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Well," he flipped another page and traveled his index finger down the sheet as he read, "it says that after the root of all evil has been quelled . . ." he looked up at them. "That would be The First."

"Yeah, we got that," Buffy said.

"Well, after it has been quelled, a new Slayer will be called. One not born of the mortal world. One possessing great strength and mystical energy."

"You're just finding this now?" Buffy questioned, her voice slightly accusing.

"Well, I'm a Watcher, "Giles said defensively. "Never thought I'd have to read the bloody manual," he grumbled.

"Bloody, huh?" Dawn asked. "You been hanging out with Spike?"

"Oh yes, very funny. Moving on," he said, returning to the text. "It says that you will have a Watcher, one fitting your unique status. A . . . Wait that's not right." Giles flipped the page over, perused the other side, and then flipped it back again. "A guide chosen from among the lower beings. Hmm."

"Hmm?" asked Dawn.

"It's nothing," he shook his head absently.

"Aren't we all lower beings? Well, those of us who aren't great balls of mystical energy."

He took off his glasses and bit on the end of the earpiece thoughtfully. "Not in this case. This is referring to something else. That's strange."  
  
"What?" Buffy joined the conversation. 

"Nothing." Giles snapped the book shut, and got up from the chair. "I think that's enough research for one night. Why don't you girls go out and have some fun. Take a break from your Slayer duties."

Buffy and Dawn both turned and looked at each other. What the heck was wrong with Giles? 

"Uh Giles?" Buffy said, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh yes, I'm fine. Quite fine. I just have some work I have to do. Nothing to concern yourselves with." He smiled at them wanly. "See you in the morning. Goodnight girls." He made for the door, and in a moment he was gone.

Dawn quickly recalled the morning the previous week when Angel had called Buffy, and she had told him she was "fine." Somehow "fine" never meant "fine" in their house.


	16. Comfort

A/N: Okay, just so you know, there are two versions of this chapter. The one posted here is the edited, R rated version. Because Fanfiction.net no longer allows anything NC-17, I've had to post the complete version elsewhere. You can find the full, unedited version at Enlightenment, which you can access through the following address: www.flesh-for-fantasy.com Just go to where it says "Sites" and click on "Enlightenment," and then "Break free." I personally prefer the NC-17 version to the R. Many thanks to NiKiTa for allowing me to post at, and link to, her wonderful site. :)

Chapter Sixteen: Comfort

Early the next morning, Buffy was lying in bed beside Spike, watching him sleep. They had spent another glorious night together, although Buffy suspected Spike had been holding back a bit. He seemed a little self-conscious about the fact that Dawn was in the next room. She couldn't blame him though. She was going to have to start encouraging her little sister to go on lots and lots of sleepovers.

Buffy sighed contentedly and looked down at Spike. She felt so bad for him. She knew he hated being human. Knew he felt useless. Was afraid he was going to turn into another Riley. She knew it wasn't true of course, but she didn't know how to convince him. She could tell him she loved him a million different times, in a million different ways, but it didn't make a difference. That wasn't the problem. Spike was afraid he was losing himself, and he desperately needed to be convinced otherwise.

Placing her hand lightly against his temple, she began to stroke his hair. He was so beautiful. She couldn't believe that only two weeks earlier she had been grieving for him, believing that she would never see him again. He was everything to her. Now, with him by her side, she knew she could go on. Fight the good fight. Protect Dawn. Make her little sister into the best darned Slayer the world had ever seen. They would do it together, once she found a way to convince Spike that he hadn't lost his bite, even though - well, literally - he had.

Tracing the soft curve of his ear with her finger, Buffy sighed again. He looked so peaceful. It was amazing, watching him breathe as he slept. A new, and marvelous experience. 

Staring more closely at him, she noticed the scar on his left eyebrow. Something was different about it. Slowly, she traced the tender flesh with her finger, feeling her way along the familiar arch. It had changed. She realized with sickening clarity that the wound was fresh.

Buffy's heart tore in two as she realized what he had done. Obviously Spike had come back without the scar, and in a desperate attempt to reclaim his identity, he had maimed himself. She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath to keep herself from crying. Whatever could she do for him?

In spite of being wrapped in a warm cocoon of sleep, she knew, even in his dreams, Spike was troubled and depressed. She wanted to do something for him. But what? 

Sweeping her gaze down his body, Buffy grinned wickedly as an idea suddenly struck her. 

Spike was lying next to her, flat on his back. A thin sheet covered him from the waist down. He was perfectly relaxed, deep in the arms of comforting sleep. But she was going to change that.

Slowly, as not to wake him just yet, Buffy moved closer to him and gently placed the palm of her hand over his unaroused member. Lightly, she began stroking him, tracing her fingers along his shaft, teasing it to arousal.

It didn't take long. Before she knew it, he was coming to life in her hand. 

Spike moaned.

Buffy watched his face as it contorted in pleasure. Then his eyes slowly opened and she smiled at him. "Good morning," she said, not stopping the movement of her hand.

Spike's eyes widened for the briefest second, then he said, "Morning luv." 

Reluctantly, Buffy removed her hand and slid it up his stomach and across his chest. As she did, she brought her left leg over to straddle him. Sitting atop him, she leaned down against his chest and hovered above him, their lips just inches apart.

He opened his eyes again and stared back at her. "Buffy," he whispered.

Gently, she kissed his bottom lip. Then, maintaining eye contact, she slowly began to slide her body lower.

Lowering her head, she kissed his neck, then his chest. Coming to one of his nipples, she opened her mouth and slipped out her tongue, lapping at the tiny nub hungrily. She felt Spike suck in a rush of air as she made contact with the sensitive flesh.

Moving lower still, she kissed his stomach, tracing the hard lines of his abs with her little pink tongue. When she got to his navel, she flicked her tongue inside it, eliciting a shocked gasp from Spike.

Knowing he was on the brink of losing himself, and desperately yearning for her own release, Buffy removed her mouth from his flesh. She straddled him once again, this time sliding herself down onto him, enveloping him in the soft, quivering flesh of her womanhood.

Spike watched her intently. He put his hands on her waist, steadying her, guiding her. 

She rode him slowly at first. Then faster. He bucked his hips upward to meet her, their bodies locking deeper with each thrust. Then finally, in a great frenzy of passion, Buffy began to shudder. Her inner walls closed in tighter around him, urging him onward, trying to milk him dry.

Spike growled her name, and then exploded inside her, the sensation welcome and glorious.

A moment later, panting and spent, Buffy collapsed on top of him, her head coming to rest against his chest.

"Spike," she whispered softly, as she closed her eyes, and reveled in the feel of his body pulsating beneath her. He was a vampire no more. Instead of his flesh staying cold, his body recovering with amazing quickness, his body responded to hers like a human. His chest was heaving; his breath coming in short bursts. She could feel his heart pounding rapidly against her ear, playing the sweetest song she had ever heard. His skin was burning. On fire. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat that Buffy couldn't resist lazily swirling her fingers over. It was all proof, proof that he was alive, and that he was really there with her. She loved him. Every inch of him. She still marveled at the fact that he was human. It was the most amazing gift.

Slowly, Spike raised his left hand and brought it to the back of Buffy's head, stroking her hair lovingly. 

She cooed and snuggled closer to him.

"You're amazing," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you Buffy. Oh God how I love you."

"I love you too Spike." She turned her head a little, and placed a chaste kiss against his chest. Then she yawned contentedly. 

"Tired pet?"

"Mmm hmm," she hummed sleepily, her body lethargic with satiation.

"Good." He shifted a little beneath her and kissed the top of her blond head. "Sweet dreams, luv," he said, yawning himself. 

"Mmm hmm." Buffy slowly drifted back to sleep.


	17. A History of Twentieth Century Vampires ...

Chapter Seventeen: _A History of Twentieth Century Vampires_ - Part Two

A few hours later, Spike was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his head bent down, a mug held firmly between his hands. He was staring into a cup of warm pig's blood, trying to decide whether or not he should drink it.

Eventually, he heard the familiar sound of Buffy's footsteps padding into the room. But he didn't look up.

Buffy eyed Spike curiously, and then shrugged. She got herself a hot cup of coffee and sat down in the chair beside him. "Okay, so you wanna tell me what that's all about? Is there a magic leprechaun or something in there?"

He looked up at her. "I thought you didn't believe in leprechauns?"

"Oh please, Spike," she said, rolling her eyes and sliding the mug away from him. Before he could stop her, she looked down and saw what he'd been staring at. "Oh," she said weakly.

"Yeah," he said, pulling the mug back across the table and settling it between his hands. "I can't stop thinking about it. I know that sounds insane . . ."

"No." she said succinctly. "I don't think so. You've been drinking the stuff for like, what? Three years now? Not insane at all," she reassured him.

Spike cocked a questioning eyebrow at her and then pushed the mug away. "Well that settles it," he said, as he got up from the table and went to make himself some hot chocolate.

Buffy picked up the mug he had left and looked at its contents again. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled the pungent aroma, wriggling her nose in irritation. No, there would definitely not be anymore pig's blood in the house. She brought the mug over to the sink and prepared to empty the contents. 

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. There are still some things I can do, even as a human. That's just not one of them."

He returned to the table with his fresh mug, and Buffy followed him.

"Spike?" she began hesitantly.

"Yeah pet?"

"You wanna tell me about the scar?"

"What?" He unconsciously brought his hand up to his eyebrow.

Buffy covered his hand with her own, gently pulling his hand away from his face so she could examine the wound again. Lightly, she traced it with her finger. "I know why you did it, I just . . ."

"It's all right," he whispered. "Didn't hurt."

Buffy leaned forward a little and brought her lips to his tender flesh. She knew he wanted to prove that he was still a monster, but she hoped he didn't destroy the man inside of him in the process. "I love you," she whispered against his temple. "Don't ever hurt yourself again." 

***

As Buffy and Spike communed in the kitchen, Dawn was curled up on the couch in the living room, her arms wrapped around a book, reading. She knew Giles had told her to skip the research. And hey? She had no problem with that. But she wasn't doing research. Not important research, anyway. In fact, she actually felt more like she was snooping.

Absently, Dawn reached out her arm to grab her mug of hot cocoa off the end table. She brought it to her lips, took a sip, and put it back down again, all without taking her eyes off the book, _A History of Twentieth Century Vampires_.

Dawn was riveted. She knew Buffy had said there probably wasn't anything important in the book, but still, Dawn was curious. She was reading about Spike's time in China, what little was known about it. Then she traced the history of his career up through the next century, to his time in Sunnydale. 

Some of what the book said was a little ridiculous. Dawn couldn't quite believe that Spike's animosity toward Angelus came from an infatuation with Darla. Puhleeze! Where did these stuffy authors get this stuff? Spike and Angel had enough reasons to hate each other without bringing yet another woman into it. If the author had only known. Wouldn't that have made a great volume? _The Sunnydale Slayer and the Vampires Who Loved Her_.

Dawn giggled at her own cleverness as she turned the page and scanned the new content.

There was a brief summary of what had been previously stated. "Railroad spikes," she mumbled absently to herself, "Evil, psychotic vampire skank . . . yadda, yadda, yadda . . . China . . . New York . . . Sunnydale. Hmm." Dawn stopped talking to herself and read the last couple of paragraphs. 

"The Origins of William the Bloody," she read the title of the section aloud. The rest she read to herself. 

__

There has been great speculation as to the human identity of the vampire known as William the Bloody. Little is actually known about him. All that is known for certain is that he was British and living in London at the time of his turning. These facts have led to speculation that the human William may have in fact been . . . 

"Jack the Ripper? Oh come on." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Give me a break." Shifting the book in her lap, she went back to reading. 

__

. . . _even though it is generally believed that William the Bloody first appeared on the scene in 1880, eight years before the Whitechapel Murders._

Others believe that he began his human life as a railroad engineer named William Blythe, who died that same year. Still others point to evidence that he was a mild-manner gentleman, named William James, who was living in London at the time, and who died just one week before the first reported sighting of the legendary vampire.

This last candidate seems highly unlikely, as the evidence linking him to William the Bloody is superficial at best. However, it is a favorite theory among some researchers, because it has been discovered in recent years, that William James was, in fact, a distant relation of the Giles line, an ancient family of Watchers. The irony seems to be the only substantial link between him and the vampire.

Dawn nearly dropped the book. "What the . . .?" She read the last paragraph again. "Oh . . . my . . . God."

Nearly knocking her hot chocolate to the floor, Dawn jumped off the couch and raced into the kitchen where she knew Spike and Buffy were. She found them sitting at the island table, Buffy was touching Spike's face, staring into his eyes. Apparently, she was interrupting a moment.

They both turned to look at her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were related to Giles?" Dawn asked, in a frantic rush.

"What?" Spike looked at her like she was insane.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were related to Giles? Look," Dawn opened the book up to the offending page and shoved it at him.

Spike's cool blue eyes scanned the text quickly. She saw him do a double take. "Bollocks!" he cursed.

"I don't think so," Dawn said harshly.

Buffy took the book from Spike and read it for herself. "Do you think it's true?" she asked him.

"How the bloody hell would I know?" He got up from the stool and started pacing the kitchen cagily. "Sometimes I can barely remember my own last name, it's been so long. You think I'd remember something as stupid as this? A distant great-great-grand-something-or-other named Giles? Please."

"Well apparently they've done research," Dawn pointed out.

He turned and glared at her. "And you should know better than to believe everything you read." 

"Maybe Giles would know what's going on," Buffy suggested.

"Oh yes, let's call the great poncey Watcher in and ask him for advice. Hey, maybe he can break out the old family album and convince me how much I look like dear old Uncle Stick-Up-His-Arse. That would be great."

"You don't have to be so rude about it. I assure you, I don't have any old uncles with sticks up their anything," Giles said, as he stepped into the kitchen from the living room.

"Giles!" Dawn exclaimed. "You knew about this?"

"Well, actually . . . no. When I left here last night, it was with the unsettling impression that I had, in fact, found your Watcher. I didn't want to alarm either of you, so I went back to Xander's and searched through a few old books, looking for any information on William the Bloody." He leveled his gaze at Spike pointedly. "It was then that I discovered the connection to my family, and realized that I had my proof."

"Proof of what?" Dawn asked, afraid she didn't want to know.

"No," Spike interrupted, his voice hard. He glared at Giles with murder in his eyes. "Don't say it."

Giles ignored him. "Proof that Spike is your Watcher."

"Bloody hell."

"What?!" Dawn exclaimed. "No. No. That's not possible."

Giles lowered himself wearily into the empty chair across from Buffy. "It is possible. It's more than possible in fact. It's the truth." He looked up at Dawn, offering her a painfully sympathetic look.

"I don't believe this," Spike growled. "I refuse to believe this." He stormed past the table and rounded on Giles. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to go along with this, you're crazy. I'd kill you all first."

He pulled away and stalked back over to the counter, giving himself some space.

"Splendid," Giles said. 

"Buffy?" Dawn turned to her sister who had yet to say a single word.

Buffy was staring down at the table, her eyes slightly glazed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think?"

Buffy raised her eyes to look at her sister. The entire room was waiting on her answer. "I think it makes sense," she said calmly. "I think it's right, and it solves everything." She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at Spike.

"And why, exactly, does it do that?" Giles questioned.

"Because it gives Spike a purpose, and it gives Dawn one hell of a Watcher." She locked her eyes with Spike's. "I don't think she could be in safer hands."

Spike seemed physically moved by the sentiment. He pulled his eyes away from Buffy's and stared into the sink.

"Well," Dawn said, "that's just more good news to tell the gang. You know, I'm surprised no one's had a heart attack yet. This week has been full of way too many surprises."

"Well, let's pray that's the last of them," Giles said.

"Don't say that," Dawn countered. "You're going to jinx it."

"At this point? I'll risk it."


	18. Slayer to Watcher

Chapter Eighteen: Slayer to Watcher

Breaking the news to the rest of the Scoobies went fairly well. Everyone was so numb already that it barely made a blip on the radar. It was yet just another piece in the great puzzle that was life in Sunnydale. 

There was still no word on why Spike had come back from the dead - the undead - however. They were still working on it.

Desperate for a moment to herself, Dawn snuck away from the group research session going on in the living room, and made her way upstairs. The hall was dark and quiet. She wanted to go to her room, put on some music, and lose herself in the moment, but she couldn't. Something else got her attention.

The door to Buffy's room was open, which seemed odd. Dawn knew Spike had gone up hours ago to be alone. She wondered if perhaps he had snuck away himself, and ran off into the approaching dark.

Reaching the door with great stealth, she peaked inside. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, when she saw Spike standing in front of the window. It was dark, but his silhouette was unmistakable. He was staring out into the twilight, oblivious to her presence. 

Dawn decide to break the ice. "So is it just being a Watcher that you hate, or is it personal?"

Spike jumped, visually startled. He turned slowly to look at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't really know," she said honestly. She flipped the light switch on the wall and closed the door halfway behind her, as she entered the room. 

Spike flinched as the lights came on. Then he turned back toward the window. "Why don't you go then?" 

"I don't know." She moved over to Buffy's bed and sat down on the end, nervously swinging her legs. "So is it personal?"

"What?" He turned in surprise.

"Is it because it's me? Is that why you don't want to be my Watcher?"

"Dawn," he searched her eyes with vague disbelief, "it has nothing to do with you. I am not a Watcher. That's just the way it is."

"Oh really? 'Cause Giles says you are."

"I don't give a bloody . . . I don't care what Giles says. It isn't true and it isn't going to happen!"

She disregarded his rant. "Do you think that's why you were brought back?"

"No. Of course not," he protested vehemently. "Because I am not, I repeat, not your Watcher." He crossed his arms over his chest angrily and turned back toward the window.

"You're not the only one who's been chosen, you know?" she said, her voice oddly quiet. "It's not easy for me either."

Spike turned to look at her again. She looked so helpless, so pathetically sweet and helpless. He really was a selfish bastard, wasn't he? He obviously wasn't the only one having a difficult time with this.

Spike crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her, leaving enough room between them to fit two people. He watched warily, uncertain of what to do. Helplessly at a loss, he raised his left hand and patted her shoulder reassuringly. At least, he hoped it was reassuringly.

Dawn turned her head and offered him a small smile. 

He dropped his hand to his lap. "It's not that bad really. Big sis has been doing it for years. You'll be okay."

"Without a Watcher?"

"You've got Giles."

"No, I don't. Spike look," she said, turning her body toward him, "I know this is probably the worst news you could have ever gotten, but it's not the end of the world."

"Right." He pushed himself up from the bed and walked over to the dresser, absently fiddling with the mess Buffy had left there. 

The idea that he was Dawn's Watcher was ludicrous to him. Beyond the realm of possibility. And yet, Giles seemed to think he had proof. Spike hated the idea. Poncey Watchers, with their suits and ties and their snooty, holier-than-thou attitudes! Spike had thought he'd left that life far behind him, the night he had died, the night he had been turned. Now he was being asked to become another bloody Giles! Bollocks! He wouldn't do it. Not even for Dawn. 

"I wish I were dead," he mumbled to himself.

"I know." She shook her head in slight irritation. Dawn got up and crossed over to him, stopping a few feet away. "Spike, you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I can't really believe I'm saying this - after everything that's happened, after the way things have been between us this past year - but you deserve this. You deserve your humanity, and you deserve to be with Buffy and have a normal life. I know you see it as a curse, but come on, do you know how many people would kill to be so blessed? Man and demon alike?"

"Right."

"It's true. Don't you see it? Buffy needs you Spike. You're everything to her. And now, now finally, you can give her everything she's always wanted. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Spike turned his bowed head to the side and stared at her with narrowed eyes. "And how exactly can I do that?"

"Oh please! Don't tell me you haven't thought about it? A normal life? Marriage? Children? The whole thing. Everything Buffy's always wanted, but thought she could never have because she's the Slayer. Angel could never give her those things. Riley wanted to, but Buffy needed something more than just All-American GI Joe by her side. She needs you Spike. You're the only one who can give Buffy what she truly needs. With you, she can be the Slayer _and_ a normal girl, all at the same time. There's still enough demon in there somewhere to satisfy her. To protect her. And to make you her equal in battle. So, you don't have superhuman strength anymore. So what? You've got a hundred and twenty-three years of experience as a warrior behind you. And if you think that counts for nothing, you're crazy."

Spike turned away and let her little speech tumble through his brain. She was right, of course. Damn know-it-all Bitty Buffy. He had spent so much time lately feeling sorry for himself, selfishly worrying about his own place in the world, he hadn't even taken the time to think about what this really meant for Buffy.

Marriage? Children? An involuntary shudder coursed through Spike at the thought. What would their children be like? Superhuman beings with a penchant for bloodlust? No. They'd be more than that. Better than that. Anything that was a part of Buffy would be worth having in this world. Could he really give her children? Would she really want that? The thought astounded him.

"Hasn't it even occurred to you what all of this means?" Dawn added, taking a determined step closer. "You do realize that now, Buffy isn't going to grow old without you? You'll grow old together. You won't have to sit back and watch her die, leave you behind. Is that what you really wanted? Because that's what was waiting for you as a vampire. That's the great gift you had to look forward to." Her voice softened a little. "Now, you can give Buffy a gift. The greatest gift of her life Spike. You just have to stop being so selfish." 

Spike raised his eyes and gave her a sidelong glance. Damn it, she was right. Again! Was she ever going to let up?

"So, are you through feeling sorry for yourself?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a determined look.

"Do I have much choice?" he asked, eyeing her again.

"Not really, no."

Spike shook his head and cursed under his breath, "Damn, bloody Slayers."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, picking up his head and turning toward her. "So, do we go tell Buffy that everything's just hearts and flowers now?" He turned toward the door.

"Spike."

Her voice stopped him. He turned to face her.

"Look," she said, "I know you hate this, but it just goes with the territory. If you're going to stay with Buffy anyway, you might as well act as Watcher. I mean really, it's either that, or let Giles come live with us permanently." She smiled.

He gave her a dark look.

"Didn't think so. So? Watcher?" she asked, raising her eyebrows hopefully.

Spike scowled. Why did she have to look so hopeful? Why did she have to look at him like that, with those huge brown eyes? She wanted him to be her Watcher. She trusted him and needed him. How could he refuse her? His lil' bit.

Spike sighed. What choice did he really have, anyway? If he was going to stay with Buffy - and apparently he was - then what possible excuse could he have for getting out of it? He didn't have to become neo-Giles. He _wouldn't_ become neo-Giles. With the Council gone, he'd get to make his own rules. Change everything it meant to be a Watcher. Screw the bloody Council! 

"Watcher," Spike mumbled, barely audibly.

"What was that?"

"I said 'Watcher,'" he answered, his words unmistakable this time. "I will be your soddin' Watcher, all right." He took a determined step closer to her. "But if you give me any hell like your sister gave dear old Uncle Rupert, I will take you over my knee and show you just what my ordinary human strength can do. You got that?"

"Yeah Spike," she said smiling. "I got that." She raised up on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. A second later she was standing in the doorway on her way out into the hall. "See you downstairs," she said, as she turned and left the room.


	19. Patrolling

Chapter Nineteen: Patrolling

Five minutes later, Spike came down the stairs into the living room, duster on, a stake in his left hand. "So, you ready to go?" he asked Buffy.

She looked up at him from her seat on the couch. "Go where?"

"Patrolling," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Sure. Okay." Buffy moved the pile of books off her lap and got up. "You guys be okay without me?" she asked, turning toward the group.

"Oh sure," Xander said. "So we've got one less pair of eyes to get numbly glazed over. We'll be fine. You crazy kids go out and have fun."

Spike scowled at him. 

Buffy grabbed her coat and headed toward the door.

Less than fifteen minutes later, they were walking through one of the many cemeteries of Sunnydale, waiting for some action. 

"So?" Buffy said. "Why patrolling? Why now?"

"Just thought you could use the exercise, that's all," he said absently.

"Uh huh?"

They walked a little more in silence. Then Buffy sensed something lurking behind a nearby tree. 

Before she had a chance to sneak up on it, the vamp bolted and Buffy rushed after it. With lightning fast speed, she closed the distance and dusted the vamp, staking it right through the back. "Not quite the challenge I was looking for," she said, as she took a second to wipe the dust from her clothes. "Oh well, I'm sure there'll be others."

"You got that right."

Buffy turned toward Spike to see him surrounded by a semi-circle of seven vamps. 

"Oh just great," she said. "There's been no action for like what? Two weeks now? And suddenly tonight it's open season on Buffy? How terribly original." 

Now that she had seen them, the vamps split up, four of them making for Buffy, three making for Spike. A small shock of terror coursed through Buffy as she realized that three vamps might be more than human Spike could handle. He had always been a great warrior, but now he was vulnerable. He didn't have the strength of a supernatural being anymore, and he could be killed just like any other human. More than anything, Buffy wanted to protect him. But she couldn't. She was facing her own wave of bloodsucking fiends, and she had to defeat them first.

Driven by instinct, she struck out at the closest vamp, kicking him in the stomach and sending him flying. The next one came rushing at her from behind. Buffy swiftly turned around and delivered a debilitating blow to his face. Then, before he could recover, she drew back her stake and drove it through his heart. The other two vamps came at her in unison, and she simultaneously engaged them both in hand to hand combat. 

Spike was a little shaky on his feet. Somehow, knowing that he was human was weighing him down, zapping his confidence. He took in a long, hard breath and steadied himself. He was a fighter and, human or not, he was going to win.

With a guttural roar, he threw himself at the first vamp. So, he didn't have strength? He still had his cunning. 

With practiced agility, he took a swing at the demon. The punch landed solidly in the vamp's face, but it barely phased him. Determined not to be discouraged, Spike pounded him again, this time delivering a series of rhythmic blows that threw the vamp off balance. As the vamp stumbled backwards, Spike lifted up his stake and drove it soundly through the bloodsucker's heart. 

The vamp fell to the ground and exploded into a cloud of dust.

Spike stood there, admiring his own handiwork. He shrugged confidently. Apparently, he hadn't lost it. "That'll teach you to mess with human . . ."

He didn't get to finish. Before he knew what hit him, one of the other vamps came up behind him and kicked him in the back. Spike instantly hit the ground in front of him, coming to rest on his hands and knees. "Oh great, now everyone wants in on the action."

Pushing himself up, he tried to stand, but was stopped, as the other vamp delivered a kick to his face. It sent Spike flying across the graveyard, his flight finally halted by a nearby tree. He hit the ground hard, stunned but still conscious. 

"All right," he said, pushing himself up, forcing his mind to stay focused. "That's enough. There's only one person who gets to play 'Kick the Spike,' and it's not either one of you." He steadied himself up against the trunk of the tree and tightened his grip on the stake. Xander had been fighting by Buffy's side for years. If the pathetic Whelp could do it, so could he.

The two vamps were closing in on him. Relying on willpower and adrenaline, he rushed at one, offering a quick sidesweeping kick to the other as he ran past, catching the vamp off guard and knocking him to the ground. Momentarily distracted, the fist vamp didn't see the stake until it was too late. It was already halfway through his unbeating heart by the time he noticed it. Spike withdrew the stake and the vamp instantly disappeared in a mist of ashes. 

"Spike!"

Spike heard Buffy's voice. Instantly, he swung around and found the other vamp, fully recovered, coming at him. But it was too late. Catching Spike off guard, the vampire sucker punched him, knocking him off his feet.

Spike saw Buffy stealthily approaching his assailant. The monster quickly turned around and attacked her. 

"Buffy!" he screamed. 

Knowing that she was wholly capable of destroying the vamp, but still terrified for her, Spike forced himself off the ground and made for her attacker. 

Buffy was fighting admirably, delivering blow after blow, kick after kick. When she saw Spike approach, she swung the vamp around and offered him to Spike. 

A sly smile pulling at his lips, Spike drove into the last remaining demon with his fists. It felt good to be in control. To know that they were safe and still get to satisfy some of the bloodlust. _This_ is what he had been missing. _This_ is what he needed.

Working the vamp over, Spike reveled in the sensation of his own blood coursing through his veins. The sweet rush of adrenaline clouding his senses and making him feel invincible. Maybe he wasn't so weak and feeble after all.

After one more good punch, he pulled back the stake and finished the vamp off. He stood there watching the dust clear, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"You know, you didn't have to beat him senseless," Buffy said. "Talk about your gratuitous violence."

"What do you care?" Spike asked, looking up at her. "He was an evil, bloodsucking fiend. I was just doing my job."

"I know," she said with a smile. Buffy came up beside him and wrapped her arm around his. They began walking toward the entrance of the cemetery. "So, you going to tell me who it is who gets to play 'Kick the Spike?'" 

Spike snickered. "As if you didn't know."

Buffy stopped and turned to look at him. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, his eyes watching her curiously.

"For tonight. For fighting by my side. For believing in yourself. It means everything to me Spike. Really it does."

He rolled his eyes at her and continued walking, taking her with him. "No need to get sappy and sentimental on me Slayer. I did what I had to do. That's all."

"Right. What you had to do."

"Yeah?" He offered her a sidelong glance. 

"Whatever you say Spike. Whatever you say."


	20. The Angel Factor

Chapter Twenty: The Angel Factor

A little while later, Buffy and Spike entered the kitchen at 1630 Revello Drive. They were still arguing over the vamp fight. 

"I still think that was a bit much," she said, shrugging out of her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

"Right. So you would rather I had let him off easy. A quick stake to the heart? No bloodshed, no retribution." He sat down at the table.

"Retribution for what? Interrupting a peaceful stroll through the cemetery?"

"Being a vamp? Killing dozens and dozens of people?"

"Oh, I doubt that guy killed dozens and dozens," she said, going to the cabinet and taking out a box of hot cocoa mix. "Didn't seem like he'd been above ground very long."

"Oh thanks. Steal my thunder, why don't you_? Oh, he was just a fledgling, so of course Spike could kill him_," he mocked.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Buffy crossed over to the table and put out two mugs. "Why don't you go see if Dawn wants some hot chocolate? After all, you are her Watcher. She's as much your responsibility as mine now."

Spike grumbled as he pushed himself up from the table. As much as he liked to complain, there was a part of him that was thankful for the fact. Now he was just as connected to Dawn as he was to Buffy. They were family now. All of them. Whether he was married to Buffy or not, it was official. He was a part of their lives for good now, and he was more than a little warmed by the thought.

Making his way into the living room, he heard the lilting tone of Dawn's voice. 

"He's not taking it all that well, but you know? In time."

"I can just see it," a familiar voice laughed. "Spike dressed in tweed, a thick volume of text in his hands, pontificating on the importance of knowing your opponent and not getting yourself vamped. Boy those Powers do have a sense of humor."

Angel!

Spike felt the blood begin to boil in his veins. "And what would you know about it?" he asked, stepping into view.

Angel got up from his seat on the coffee table. "Well, there you are. Heard you'd gone out on patrol. I wasn't sure if we'd be seeing you back in one piece tonight."

"I'm bloody fine."

"I'll bet."

"Spike, you'll never believe what's happened. Angel--"

"Now wait," Angel said, cutting her off. "I think we should wait until Buffy's here to break the news. Where is she?" he asked, his voice hard and accusing.

"In the kitchen," Spike said, his eyes locked with Angel's.

"Buffy!" Dawn called.

A moment later, Buffy came in from the kitchen. She had a dishtowel in her hands, and was wiping them dry. "What is it Dawnie?" 

Before Dawn could even answer, Buffy lifted her eyes and caught sight of Angel standing across the room. "Angel."

"Buffy." He broke away from his Mexican standoff with Spike and looked down at her.

"What . . . what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" He crossed over to her and took her by the arm, leading her away from Spike.

Spike growled, but made no move to stop him.

"Buffy, didn't I tell you to call me if anything unusual happened?"

"Well . . ." she thought for a minute, "yes."

"And?! Don't you think Spike coming back from the dead is something unusual?"

"Well, I don't know really. This is Sunnydale. People come back from the dead all the time."

"Buffy," he scolded harshly.

"Look Angel. I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking about it. It's been a long couple of weeks. I would have called you eventually," she offered weakly.

"I'll bet," he said. "So, was I going to get a wedding invitation, or were you just going to call me once your kids had set off for college?"

"That's not funny," she said, pulling her arm out his grip. 

"Buffy, we need to talk."

"Then talk."

Angel glanced about the room, eyeing Dawn, then Spike. "I think this is best done privately."

Buffy looked at Spike. He didn't seem happy, but he didn't say anything. "All right." She went to lead Angel into the kitchen.

Dawn stopped them. "Aren't you at least going to tell them first?"

"What?" Angel asked.

Dawn widened her eyes at him. "You know . . . about the thing? The Oracles?"

"What about the Oracles?" Buffy asked, turning on Angel.

"Oh, yeah, that." He laughed nervously. "I went to see the Oracles. I know, I know, we all thought they were dead. But hey? Turns out they weren't. Anyway, I went to see them, to ask for Spike's life back."

"What?!" Buffy asked, dumbfounded.

"Bloody hell," Spike cursed.

"You? You asked for Spike's life? Why?"

"Because," Angel grabbed her by the forearms and pulled her closer to him, "we needed you. It was the only way to get you back. Willow said she couldn't go inside your head and save you. I didn't think we had much choice."

Buffy searched his eyes curiously. She couldn't quite believe it. "You . . . asked for Spike's life back?"

"Yes."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Spike grumbled.

"Now, Buffy. I need to talk to you." Angel tried to pull her toward the kitchen.

She held back. "Wait. I don't quite understand. Why did you ask for him to be human?"

"I didn't."

"Then how . . .?"

Angel sighed heavily. "The Oracles asked me what I wanted. Whether I thought Spike should come back as a vampire or a man. I didn't choose either one. I told them that I just wanted what was best for you."

Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. Overwhelmed with a new appreciation for Angel, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered softly in his ear.

"No," he said, "don't thank me. I'm still not sure I did the right thing."

As she stared up at Angel, tears beginning to well behind her eyes, Buffy heard the basement door slam shut. Oh great! Not again. In his final days as a vampire, that had been Spike's answer to everything. Run to the basement. He was doing it again.

She pulled away from Angel and moved to head toward the kitchen.

Angel stopped her. "Let me," he said.

"I really think I should--"

"Buffy," he said sternly. "We've got some unfinished business. Let me talk to him."

Uncertainly, Buffy stepped out of Angel's way, clearing his path to the kitchen. Any confrontation between Angel and Spike could not end well, but they were grown men - well, sort of anyway - and she had no right to stand in their way.

"Thanks," Angel said. "I won't be long."


	21. Man vs Beast

Chapter Twenty-one: Man vs. Beast

Spike was walking the basement floor frantically, an unlit cigarette in his hand. Brilliant! Just bloody brilliant! Angel comes in and saves the day. 

Spike was just getting used to the idea of being human, of being with Buffy for real, and then Angel has to come along and ruin it, take credit for the whole, soddin' thing. Self-righteous poofter! Damn him.

Spike threw the cigarette to the ground in frustration and ground it into the cement with his boot. Things were just getting better and better.

"I thought you would have given that up," Angel said, as he made his way down the stairs. "It's a nasty habit."

Spike picked his eyes up from the floor and glowered at Angel. "What . . . the hell . . . do you want?" he said slowly.

"Oh, I don't know." Angel shrugged. "Peace on earth. An end to famine and disease. A nice house in the Valley maybe? Oh, and your gruesome, horrible death."

"Come again?" Spike asked. "You just saved my bleedin' life."

"I know." Angel crossed the floor with determination. "I'm not really sure that was such a good idea."

"So what? You gonna kill me now? Murder a defenseless human?"

"You're not defenseless." Angel pulled a stake out of the lining of his jacket and threw it to Spike.

Instinctually, Spike caught it. "You've got to be kidding."

"Nope." Angel shook his head slowly. "You see Spike, I know you're human and all. I know you think you've been given a second chance. But you don't deserve one. Not until you've paid for the mistakes you made the first time around."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Angel said, moving forward and closing the distance between them, "that you get to pay for what you've done to Buffy."

Spike narrowed his eyes and stared at Angel searchingly. What was he on about? "What I've done to Buffy?"

"Do I need to refresh your memory Spike?" Angel hissed in his ear.

"Well, yeah mate," he said, backing away slightly. "I'm afraid you'll have to. Don't quite know what you're talking about."

"Oh really?" Angel took a few steps back and began walking the floor as he spoke. "I don't know how long ago it happened. The vision didn't specify. Sometime after you slept with Anya."

"What?"

"Oh?" Angel stopped to look at him. "Don't remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm not sure really. But time wise, it gives us a point of reference."

"For what?"

"For the night you tried to rape Buffy."

Spike felt all the blood seep from his veins. He suddenly felt cold and lightheaded. "How did you know about that?"

Angel laughed. "The Oracles of course. Just couldn't resist telling me. Well, showing me actually. You see Spike," he said, coming up to him again, "I saw it all. Every last second of it. And maybe Buffy was able to forgive and forget, but I'm not. I can see it like it was yesterday. I don't care how much time has past, or how much redemption you think you've earned. What you did was unforgivable, and it's time someone made you pay."

Angel pulled back his fist and pounded it into Spike. Spike instantly flew back against the wall and landed in a heap on the floor.

"Oh come on now. You can do better than that. Get up and show me some of that fight. If you could show it to Buffy, why can't you show it to me?"

Spike growled and pushed himself up from the floor, pouncing on Angel in a swift, predatory move. They both landed on the floor. Spike was on top, and was able to land a few good punches before Angel shoved him off. 

"Not so easy when you're not fighting little girls, is it?" Angel asked, as he stood up and took a determined step toward Spike.

"That was over a bloody year ago. A lot's changed."

"Not that much," Angel said, leaning down and grabbing Spike by the shirt. He dragged him to his feet. "It'll never be enough." He punched Spike with his free hand, over and over again. 

Spike tried to break from his grasp, but couldn't.

Finally, Angel shoved Spike away from him. He opened up his arms offering Spike free access to his chest. "So, come on Spike. Let me have it. Come at me. Give me a reason to kill you."

Spike watched him cautiously. He didn't trust Angel. As much as he was supposed to be one of the good guys, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Angel seriously meant to kill him, if given half a chance. Despite the rage burning in his own veins, he couldn't take the bait.

Spike dropped the stake. "I can't do it, and you know it."

"Why?" Angel mocked. "Because Buffy wouldn't like it?"

"Because I can't."

"Oh right. Because you're a defenseless, pathetic human. I'm not buying it Spike." Angel bent down and picked up the stake, throwing it back to his adversary. "Now fight."

Spike looked down at the stake in his hands and contemplated his choices. As much as he hated Angel, Angel had every right to want to kill him. If Angel had ever hurt Buffy like that, Spike would have wanted to rip out his heart and tear it into little pieces. Giving Angel his chance was only fair.

Wrapping his fist tightly around the stake, Spike took a step forward and slugged Angel. Then the fighting really began in earnest. 

***

Upstairs, Buffy and Dawn were listening to the commotion coming from the basement.

"I have to go down there," Buffy said, as she made for the door.

"No you don't." Dawn moved in front of her, blocking the way with her body.

"Out of my way Dawn."

"No."

"Angel's going to kill him."

"Buffy, you can't go down there. You can't save Spike. This is something he has to do on his own. How do you think he's going to feel if you have to come in and win every battle for him? This is Angel he's fighting. They have a history together. Swooping down now and playing the big, shining hero, is the worst thing you could do. We're just going to have to ride this out."

Buffy eyed her sister with worry. Dawn was right, but somehow that didn't make things any easier. 

***

"Did you really think I'd let you win?" Angel asked, as he threw Spike down on the table and hovered over him threateningly, lumpies in full force. "I could rip your throat out right now."

Spike tried to push Angel off of him, but couldn't. Angel bared his fangs and went for Spike's neck. Spike steeled his nerves and kneed Angel in the groin.  


"Son-of-a-bitch!" Angel cursed as he pulled back in pain and surprise.

Spike scrambled from the table and came to stand on the edge of the room. He watched Angel warily. 

"So, you still have some guts, do you? Always were an insufferable upstart. I'm glad I'm going to be the one who gets to put you down for good."

Angel took a few cagey steps toward Spike, who was already beginning to feel the strains of the battle. His muscles were aching, and he could swear a couple of his ribs were broken. If he did survive this, it would take him an eternity to recover. Angel looked like he hadn't been in a fight at all. There was nary a scratch on him.

"What?" Spike asked, swiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Haven't had enough mate?"

"No. Not quite. I won't be happy until I see you really suffer." Angel moved forward slowly and took position in front of Spike. Without warning, he drove his fist into Spike's face and began pounding him senseless.

Spike got in a few good blows himself, but he was weakening. His human body was no match for Angel's vamp strength. Desperately afraid that he really might die, he raised the stake in his left hand and slammed it up against Angel's heart.

Angel's fist stopped flying as he felt the point of the wood connect with his chest. He laughed harshly. "Go ahead. Do it Spike. I dare you. Make Buffy proud."

Spike growled. Calling on his last reserve of strength, he pulled back the stake and drove it into Angel's chest, purposefully striking him just below the heart.

"You ungrateful whelp," Angel growled, as he looked down at the stake protruding from his chest.

"Well," Spike shrugged, "shouldn't really surprise you." Spike stepped away from the wall and walked past Angel, giving him his back. If Angel decided to pursue him, he knew he was dead.

Angel pulled the stake from his chest with a sickening roar. 

Spike ignored him. 

Somehow managing to walk, despite the trembling in his legs, he mounted the stairs, and began the long ascent up to the kitchen. His joints ached, he was bleeding from several different places and he felt like he was going to pass out. Still, he had to make it to the top of the steps and make a good show for Angel.

Finally, he reached the door and opened it. There, standing in front of him was Buffy, a terrified look on her face. Spike smiled at her wanly and then collapsed in her arms. 


	22. Buffy and Angel

Chapter Twenty-two: Buffy and Angel

After Buffy and Dawn had put a very unconscious Spike to bed, Buffy made her way downstairs. She found Angel sitting in the living room, waiting for her.

As soon as he saw her he stood up. "Buffy," he began.

"Outside," she said, her voice brooking no debate.

Angel followed her out onto the back porch. Once the door was closed behind them, she turned around and slugged him.

Angel lost his balance and fell off the porch, landing on the grass below. He looked up at Buffy with a look of complete and utter shock.

"What the hell did you do that for?" she yelled. "What? You bring Spike back to life just so you could kill him? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Angel pushed himself up from the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Look," he said, "I had my reasons."

"Oh really? Would you mind sharing them with me, or do I get to beat you down again?"

"Don't you think your little boyfriend driving a stake through my chest was enough?" he asked, clutching at his wound.

"What?" 

"Yeah, Spike? You're little hero? Drove a stake through my chest."

Buffy couldn't help but smile a little. Knowing it was wrong, she forced herself to sober up and glare at Angel. "I don't care what he did to you down there. Whatever he did, he did in self-defense. Now, again. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I know what he did to you," Angel said somberly.

"Excuse me? As in . . .?"

"As in, last year? You? Spike? Upstairs in the bathroom?"

Buffy's face fell and she felt her heart sinking in her chest. "How . . . how did you . . .?"

"The Oracles. They showed me. Buffy," he walked up the steps and joined her on the porch. "What were you thinking, having a relationship with Spike after that?"

Buffy looked at him with some astonishment. "What right do you have to tell me what relationships I should and should not have?"

"Buffy, he tried to rape you."

"And he failed."

"And that's a moot point, and you know it. Maybe you don't remember what it was like. Maybe the memory has faded for you, but I just saw it. Just days ago. And it haunts me. Every night I close my eyes and I see it. God Buffy, how could you get over it? How did you convince yourself that everything was okay? How desperate where you?"

There was something maddening in Angel's holier-than-thou tone. Buffy pulled back her fist and swung at him again. This time Angel caught her hand in midair and stopped her.

"Fine. You want to defend him, go ahead. You think he's changed? He hasn't changed Buffy. He's still the same evil, selfish, violent, deranged lunatic that he's always been. Even a shiny new soul can't change that, as much as you'd like it to."

Buffy wrenched her fist out of his grip. "Oh, so it's fine when it's you and Angelus. Then the soul makes a difference. But not for Spike, right?"

"He hurt you Buffy."

"He's not the only one." 

They stood there in silence for a moment. Finally she said, "What do you want Angel? Why did you come here?"

"To repay Spike for his treatment of you."

"Then why get him his life back in the first place?"

"Because we needed you. Spike was just a means to an end."

"And you figured you could always come here and kill him and I wouldn't mind."

"Something like that."

Buffy turned to go back into the house. "Go home Angel. You've gotten your revenge. I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself." She went back into the house leaving the door open behind her. Let Angel go back to LA. He was leaving enough problems behind him in Sunnydale to last long after he was gone. 


	23. Into the Light

Chapter Twenty-three: Into the Light

The light was blinding, hurting his eyes. Instinctively, he recoiled. For one glorious moment, he thought he was a vampire again. And then he realized, no, his head just hurt.

Spike forced his eyes open a small fraction and peered out at the world before him. He was in Buffy's room - that much he could tell - a steady stream of sunlight pouring in through the sheer curtains. Even though the lights were off, it was too bright by half. He wanted to scream.

He closed his eyes again and waited for the throbbing in his head to die down. It didn't. Neither did the aches and pains in the other parts of his body. Damn bloody poofter! Who the hell did he think he was, coming to town and beating him to a bloody pulp? What kind of hero did that make Angel anyway? Pulverizing a defenseless human? Spike tried to snort in disgust, but ended up choking.

Instantly, Buffy came running into the room. "Are you all right?"

Sitting up in the bed now, he turned his bowed head to stare at her. "What the hell happened?"

"You passed out." She crossed over to the bed and sat down beside him. "How do you feel?" she asked, placing a gentle hand against his bruised chest.

"Been better, pet," he said, watching her curiously, mesmerized by her face.

"We patched you up the best we could. Believe it or not, nothing was broken. Just a lot of soft tissue damage. You know, if you're Slayer long enough, you sort of become your own medical expert?"

"Is he gone?"

Buffy began tracing a light pattern on his chest with her fingertips. She seemed fascinated by his flesh. "He's gone. Back to LA."

"Do you know why he . . .?"

"Yes." She looked up at him. "I know. He told me."

Spike pulled his eyes away from hers and looked down at the hand that was touching him. "Is that all right with you? Are you really okay with . . .?"

"Yes, Spike, I am. I wouldn't be with you if I wasn't. A lot has changed," she said, as she slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling him closer and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "I forgive you, you know that. I forgave you a long time ago."

"Buffy . . ."

"Shhh," she whispered, bringing her mouth close to his. "Don't. It's all right." Buffy placed a gentle kiss against his lips and then pulled back. "You really need to get your rest."

She got up from the bed and helped him lay back down, adjusting his pillows and making sure he was comfortable. Spike didn't want her to leave. He needed to be with her, needed to talk with her. He felt like an invalid. He was feeling more useless than ever.

"Buffy, luv," he said, as she turned to walk away.

"Yeah, Spike?" she asked, as she turned back to him, and pulled a chair up beside the bed.

He breathed a small sigh of relief. "Nothing, nothing." 

With great effort, he shifted over on the bed and motioned for her to lie down next to him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He simply reached out and pulled her closer in answer.

The chair forgotten, Buffy laid down beside him and rested her head against his bruised chest. 

Spike suppressed a shocked gasp as her soft body made contact with his battered one. He could feel every cut, every bruise as if it were being freshly made. But he didn't care. If he could have Buffy beside him, he would endure all the pain in the world. He just wanted to feel her close to him, even if it meant more suffering. He'd go to hell and back for her, if he had to. Nearly had. Anything for Buffy.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, as she repositioned herself slightly, trying to make him more comfortable.

"Fine. Just fine luv," he said, gently stroking her hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent. 

He had been beaten. So, Angel hadn't exactly won the battle, still it barely seemed like a victory. Now it was going to take him forever to heal.

"I think you surprised Angel," she said absently.

"Come again?"

"You stabbed him in the chest. He wasn't . . . exactly . . . expecting that. You were wonderful you know?"

"What? How was _I_ wonderful? Nearly got my insides torn out by that soddin' poof."

Buffy laughed a little. Spike felt it reverberate through his entire body. 

"But you didn't. You fought him and lived to tell the tale. You beat a master vampire and . . ."

"Master vampire my ass! The only thing that ponce is a master of is causing trouble, sticking his bloody nose in where it doesn't belong."

She raised up on her elbow and turned to look at him. "And if he hadn't have, you wouldn't be here." 

Spike stared into her soft hazel eyes and felt his heart break. She was right. He hated Angel, but without Angel, they would never have been given this second chance.

Spike pulled in a steadying breath and raised a weak hand to caress her cheek. "You really want this?" he asked.

"Yes Spike, I do. I want you. Not beneath me, but beside me. Always."

A small smile tugged at Spike's lips, in spite of the pain. 

Buffy leaned down and gave him a small kiss. "Get some sleep Spike. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" he asked, his eyes already closed.

"A new day." 

She leaned forward and kissed him sweetly on his freshly scarred eyebrow. He was asleep before the kiss ended. 

END


End file.
